


Fragments

by Glisseo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Rated for language in some chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 18:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 61,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo
Summary: A collection of James/Lily oneshots - a mishmash of prompts, odd ideas and AUs - previously posted on tumblr.





	1. Falling into Place

**Author's Note:**

> It's worth pointing out that all of these one-shots are not in chronological order and do not follow any particular pattern; some are AU and some will have contradictory plot points or details as they were written over a period of about a year and my head canons change! Still, I hope they are enjoyed. :)

_Tumblr prompt: "Jily, a fall afternoon of their 7th year. Just started dating or about to start dating. (I saw a pic on your dash of fall leaves & trees and it made me imagine them taking a quiet walk together. Taking a break from all their duties & time for each other)"_

There were mutterings about snow already down in the village, though they were barely in October; autumn had brought harsh, biting gales, the sort that stung at exposed skin and left you gasping, and the mornings were cold enough that breath hung in the air in the coldest parts of the castle, which led to half the students point blank refusing to remove their gloves and scarves in lessons.

But it was beautiful: autumn's paintbrush had swept rich, warm colours over the grounds, the trees whose leaves the wind carried into the castle, and the grey sky could not compete, not when everything below was brilliantly orange and vividly crimson.

Lily's hat was orange, too. It was woolly, the sort with the bobble on the top, and it kept her ears warm. She had made it herself and would hear absolutely nothing against it.

"That hat is ridiculous," said James, and received a half-hearted smack for his trouble.

"Ow," he complained, though it had really not hurt at all, and if it had he wouldn't have said anything. "I'm just saying what everyone is thinking. It's truly ridiculous."

Lily took a seat at her desk in the tiny study they shared and shot him a mutinous glower.

"It's better than being cold. And I like it."

"Looking ridiculous?" more

"I think you're just jealous."

"I'm really, really not," said James. "Embarrassed, more than anything. For you. And for me. Can you take it off now, please? I don't want to be seen with you when you're wearing that."

"No one's here!"

"Someone could walk in. Please take it off, I might have to burn it if it's on your head for much longer."

Pretending to be cross, so that she wouldn't laugh, Lily removed the hat and smoothed down her hair.

"Do you not like hats because they make your hair look even more stupid?" she asked James, whose jet black mop was losing daily battles with the wind and sticking up in every direction, rather than just at the back, like it usually did. With his lopsided glasses, mismatched socks (he had kicked his feet up on the desk) and very worn shoes, too, he made for a very untidy picture. His Head Boy badge, which was upside down, did not look like it belonged on his robes.

"I remember a time," he said, "when I thought you were nice. It seems very long ago now."

"When did you ever think I was nice?"

"Before you opened your mouth."

Lily, laughing, decided not to point out that he could hardly talk about being nice. There was no need, she thought, in dragging up the past. It was the past, after all. He was nice now.

Mostly.

"I can't do this," he announced suddenly, throwing his quill down.

"It was only a joke," said Lily. He gave her one of her favourite looks, with his long nose scrunched up and his eyes smiling.

"Ha. No, this." He gestured at the cramped little room, overflowing with their mountainous workload. "D'you want to get out for a bit? I feel like stretching my legs."

"Well don't do it in here for goodness' sake, they'll go through the walls," Lily joked. Then, seriously, "yes please, that would be lovely."

"Lovely!" James echoed, bouncing up. He reached for his Gryffindor scarf, the only item of outerwear he would concede to. Lily donned her cloak and gloves, and put her hat back on.

"No,' said James, when he saw it. "No. Definitely not."

"Yes," said Lily happily. "Deal with it."

"But -"

"No."

"But it looks -"

"Do you want me to convince you?" Lily asked, drawing her wand.

"God no," he said quickly, backing away. "All right. But if people laugh -"

"I'll tell them that you can't help having a face like that."

He looked at her with something bordering on awe.

They walked down through the castle, taking James' shortcuts, and out of the front doors. It was a blustery day, late afternoon, the sun low and pale, the forest golden in its weak light. It had rained the day before, and leaves were soggy underfoot, but the ones still on the trees were crisp and bright.

Lily, who had grown up in a very grey town, skipped along for a few paces, admiring the leaves that fluttered to the ground around her, breathing deeply in the cool, fresh air. It was her seventh autumn at Hogwarts, and yet she still looked on the scene as if for the first time. The only difference was that now she knew, in the back of her mind, that it was to be the last time.

"I'll miss this," she said, falling back into step with James. "I can't imagine being anywhere so beautiful."

For once, James didn't crack a joke.

"No," he agreed. "It's pretty spectacular."

There was no one else around, not on such a cold day, with the school session not yet over. They strolled along the lake edge, and James pointed out the absence of the giant squid.

"Your friend's not come to say hello, then."

"My friend?"

"Well, I know you'd rather it was more than that … You said," he explained, at Lily's questioning look. "If it was a choice between me and the giant squid …"

It took Lily a moment to understand, and she blushed when it came back to her, even though she had meant it almost completely at the time.

"I was upset!"

"So was I, when you said that," said James. He changed the subject, slightly. "I heard that Roddy Goldstein asked you to go to Hogsmeade with him."

"Oh yes?" Lily glanced sideways at him. He looked ahead, the frame of his glasses glinting in the sunlight, casting shadows along the line of his jaw.

"What did you say?"

"I said I was already going with someone."

Now he glanced at her. "Are you, now?"

They matched each other stride for stride, James slowing himself, Lily taking larger steps.

"I thought I might be," she said.

Beneath the shade of the large beech tree, they stopped.

"Only - if you wanted to - I didn't know. We never really said what we were - if we were -"

James was a million miles from arrogance as he faced her, hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture, shifting uncertainly. Lily smiled, rolled her eyes, laid a hand on his arm.

"I didn't think we needed to." After that kiss? And the one after - and the one after that …

"Well, me neither," he said, looking his usual animated self again, "but I thought I should check. Didn't want to force you into anything."

"You couldn't if you tried," she told him, and he grinned and admitted that was true.

They started walking again, hands meeting the middle almost unconsciously.

"I do actually like the hat, by the way," said James.

"I know you do," said Lily.


	2. Friday I'm in Love

It's Friday and it's raining and Lily needs a cuddle. A big James hug, one of the squashy ones where he jiggles around and makes an inappropriate joke about something in the pocket of his robes. Some people are perfect for hugging and cuddling, and James does not seem like one of these people: he's tall and bony, all sharp angles and pointy elbows, and he's often muddy and damp, and he rarely stays still, and he draws on the arms of anyone who sits near him – but Lily, who once thought these things, now knows better. She knows that James is an  _excellent_ cuddler, because he's warm,  _all_ the time, even though he likes tramping around outside and flying in the dark. And he smells warm, too, sort of earthy. He's so tall that he can enfold her in his arms, swallow her up, and she can burrow her head into his chest, make herself a nest in his embrace.

(He does draw on her arms, but she doesn't mind so much anymore.)

It's Friday and it's raining and she needs James. She needs a laugh. A distraction. She needs to be somewhere else, because she's been swamped in Arithmancy revision for hours, and she hasn't understood much of it all term, and she doesn't understand it now, and she feels stupid, and bone-tired, and blue.

Exams are upon the seventh years, for those unlucky ones who have subjects which test in the autumn term as well as summer, which means cold grey days and cold black nights submerged in textbooks and tiredness. It's not even late, though the blackboard sky belies the hour, but Lily's thinking of bed. James, and bed, and a hot chocolate. In any order. The rain hammering on the roof of the tower room is making her drowsy, and numbers are turning to meaningless squiggles before her drooping eyes.

She yawns widely and stretches, stiff from hours hunched over the table, then reaches for another book, hoping it'll make things seem easier -

There's a  _something_ , suddenly, a slight movement behind her that she senses more than sees – her head snaps around, rather more alert, but there's no one there, just her school bag, lying on the floor.

Mary, next to her, frowns.

"What is it?"

"Nothing …" Lily gives herself a little shake. She's become too paranoid lately. "Thought I saw something."

Mary peers at the same spot. "What's that in your bag?" she asks curiously, pointing. Lily follows her gaze. She blinks, then scrambles to heave the bag into her lap.

Lying on the top of her things is a single yellow rose.

The petals leave a shimmering gold dust on her fingertips when she gingerly picks it up: it's been conjured, perfectly, and she bites her lip, curving into a smile. Her favourite flower: of course, he wouldn't have forgotten, he who never forgets  _anything_.

"Is it from James?" Mary sighs, head on one side. "That's so sweet! I never saw him as a romantic."

Neither did Lily, who adores him, but still despairs of his idea of a perfect date ("I  _said_ I'd let you have a go on my broom  _at some point_. And stop laughing, you filthy wench.") and the fact that he likes sticking his smelly socks in her face. "That's so strange," she says, "it wasn't there ten minutes a-"

She breaks off, twisting in her chair again to survey the room. No James, but – she  _did_ sense movement. Is he there? Invisible? He  _knows_ she doesn't like it when he does that - half the time, she'll be talking to him, turn away for a second, and he'll have vanished when she turns back. She got very confused the first few times, before he told her about the existence of the Cloak.

"James!" she hisses to the empty space behind her chair. "James! Are you there?"

There's no reply. She debates reaching out and groping the air, but the others in the common room might think she's lost it, and she  _is_ Head Girl. Not the best impression to make.

"Lily?" Mary is watching her warily. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah … I'm just trying to work out when he put it in my bag," Lily mutters. "You haven't seen him come in at all, have you?"

"No, but there's another one over there, if that helps."

Mary's right: there's a second yellow rose lying by the portrait hole. Lily hurries over and picks it up, holding one in each hand. She considers them, thinking.

She has a hunch that there may be another one in the corridor outside, but Arithmancy … the exam on Monday …

 _Oh, sod it_ , she thinks impulsively. It wasn't making any sense anyway.

She tells Mary she's going for a walk, and, roses in hand, heads out into the corridor. Her hunch is proven correct when she spots a third yellow rose, bright against the stone floor. It's cold and her heart's thudding a bit, adrenalin coursing through her. She feels childlike, excited, remembering Easter egg hunts and her dad's cryptic clues leading to birthday presents hidden around the house.

A fourth rose lies in the next corridor, a fifth on a windowsill a little way along. Lily wonders where she's going, but finds she doesn't much care: this trail could lead her outside, into the pouring rain, but as long as James is somewhere out there too, she wouldn't mind.

As she picks up the sixth, halfway down the staircase to the sixth floor, it occurs to her that he might be sending her somewhere awful as a joke.

Like the Slytherin common room, she thinks when she comes across the seventh, or Slughorn's quarters …

The eighth rose is elusive, until she turns a corner into the passage that holds a boys' bathroom, from which Peter appears, holding out the flower.

"You're to go straight ahead, then go through the tapestry of the banshee knitting a hat and down the stairs behind it," he recites carefully.

Lily takes the rose and eyes him. "Do you know where this is leading to?"

"No."

He's lying, she thinks. But he's a very good liar. They all are. Bastards.

"See you later," Peter says.

So he's roped the others into this. Lily sighs and follows the directions given. The collection of roses has built up now: they smell divine, but she imagines she looks rather odd, wandering the corridors with a small bouquet; she's already passed the Fat Friar, who gave her a very strange look.

The castle's chilly, and the rain is loud, echoing, in the stone-paved passage. She pulls her cardigan tightly around herself as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, pushing aside another tapestry, only to come face to face with -

"Evening," says Sirius pleasantly. He's twirling a rose between his fingers, lounging against the wall, as if he does this all the time. "Now, there's a catch with this one – you have to give me the password."

Lily purses her lips, hiding a smile. "Is it "please"?"

"Damn it."

He gives her the rose, along with a small, folded piece of parchment.

"I haven't read it," he says.

"Yes you have." Lily scans the note: a line, in James' writing.  _Q: What is the name of the best looking and most talented student in Hogwarts, who is definitely, unquestionably going to pass their exams?_

"Stumped me," says Sirius.

"Shhh. Where am I supposed to go now?" she asks, smiling properly now.

"To the library."

He's sending her through the whole bloody castle, isn't he?

"Good luck," Sirius tells her, with a wink.

She's not surprised at all to find Remus sitting outside the library. "Here," he says, passing her another rose, with another note. "And no, I don't know where it's leading."

"I'm fairly sure that's a lie," Lily says sternly: then she reads the note, and snorts.

_A: James Potter._

"D'you know the statue of the humpbacked witch, on the third floor?"

"The one that leads to Honeydukes?" Lily sighs. "Yeah. Is that where I'm headed?"

"It would be a good idea," Remus affirms.

There's no one waiting at the statue, but a rose lies at its base, with a note attached to it.

_Just kidding._

Lily's laughing to herself now. This is  _ridiculous_. She flips it over to find, on the other side, directions to Dumbledore's office on the second floor. Has he got  _Dumbledore_ in on this?

Yes, she discovers, is the answer to that. The Headmaster appears from behind the stone gargoyle shortly after she arrives, smiling in a very mysterious manner, a rose between his long fingers with yet another note.

"I imagine you're having a very interesting - if rather bewildering - evening," he says cheerfully. "I hope I can be of some help."

The note says _:_

_it's Lily Evans_

and nothing else.

"I wish that were true, sir," she says, amused but weary.

"Oh dear." He leaves a thoughtful pause. "Perhaps you might be further enlightened by progressing to the History of Magic classroom?"

"On the first floor?"

"Indeed." His eyes twinkle. "Personally, I always find a good treasure hunt helps to clear my head when I have simply been working for too long."

"Nothing feels very clear right now," Lily says wryly.

"I'm sure it will become more so." He doffs his hat. "Good luck to you."

The History of Magic classroom is locked – entrusting anything to Professor Binns, she thinks, might have been foolish – but the – thirteenth? She's lost count – rose, and  _another_ note, are Spellotaped to the door.

It's hard to balance all the roses now: she juggles the steadily forming bouquet to unfold the note.

_I really hope you read those in the right order._

She runs through the contents of all the previous notes in her head, and grins.

The other side directs her to the staff room, on the ground floor. The knob's sent her from the top of the castle all the way down to the bottom: her legs are aching and she's exasperated but damn it, she is enjoying herself.

As he knew she would.

The whole thing feels thoroughly bizarre and like a very odd dream when the staff room door opens and Professor McGonagall comes out.

"Evening, Professor," Lily says cautiously. If McGonagall  _isn't_ involved with this, she surely will want to know what Lily's doing there with an armful of yellow roses.

"Good evening," McGonagall replies briskly. "I have been instructed –" her mouth is a very thin line, no doubt rather peeved at being instructed to do anything by one of her most troublesome students – "to give you this."

She produces the fourteenth rose.

"You should, I am told, proceed to the base of North Tower."

"North Tower?" Lily cries, momentarily forgetting who she's talking to. "That's right at the top! I've  _come_ from there!"

McGonagall looks like she sympathises entirely.

"I hope, for your sake, that this scheme, or whatever it is, has some benefit for you. I don't  _believe_ he would intentionally send you on a wild goose chase around the school for the fun of it –" __  
  
"Really?" says Lily. "Because that sounds to me exactly like something he'd do."

A small smile meets McGonagall's mouth.

"If that is the case," she says, lowering her voice, "then you have my permission to use – ah –  _discretionary_  methods to deal with him."

Lily laughs. "Thanks, Professor."

McGonagall sends her on her way with a heartfelt "good luck"; it's the third time someone's said that to her this evening, and she's really, really hoping she doesn't need it.

On the long journey back up to the seventh floor, she thinks of her bed on the same floor; she could go there, instead, take her books up with her, settle in and listen to the rain and do some much-needed revision.

But she doesn't want to. Some might think her foolish, but she trusts James. He's her boyfriend, and he's her friend, and she knows that this – whatever it turns out to be – will have been done with good intentions.

North Tower holds the Divination classroom, she knows, but she's never been there. She comes to a round room with a trapdoor in the ceiling and little else: no roses, no notes, no James.

"Hello?" she calls, feeling stupid. A moment passes, and then the trapdoor opens. A ladder materialises, descending, coming to rest at her feet.

It's a good thing she's a Gryffindor, she thinks, and starts to climb.

She finds herself in an attic-like room, long and low. It's dimly lit, and ever so cosy, with little squashy armchairs and a crackling fire and small lamps on tables, by which the rain on the window becomes tiny golden rivers, streaming down the pane.

And on the table in the middle of the room lies a yellow rose.

There's a little bit of parchment attached to it, which says:

_Congratulations! You've found the treasure._

"Treasure?" Lily mutters to herself. "There's no treasure …"

"That would be me," says a voice from behind her. She doesn't jump - really, she was expecting something like this – but shakes her head, smiling, and turns around.

"Hello," says James, stepping out from underneath the Cloak. "I'm Treasure."

"What … what  _is_ all this?" She gestures at the roses, at the room. "I don't …"

James shrugs.

"I thought you could use a distraction."

And she laughs, and lets him envelope her in his arms, as if he knew she also needed a big James hug. He smells comforting, safe, and it hits her that she's never  _really_ felt that, not in years, but she does now. She's gone running around the castle this evening, abandoning her revision, chasing roses, knowing, the whole time, that he was doing something for her.

He might steal her toast in the mornings, he might have smelly feet, he might have been a real twat in the past, but one thing no one who knows James Potter can deny is that he always, always goes the extra mile. He has mad ideas and he goes to great lengths to carry them out. He's the boy she met on a train six years ago, whom she would have never, ever pictured herself dating – but she is, because he's also  _not_ that boy. She's known him as an immature, arrogant boy, and she's known him as a young, brilliant man.

She's been angry with him. Frustrated, annoyed. Disappointed. Exasperated. But she's been happy, comfortable, never bored …

… in love.

She's only read about love in books, those ones she hides under her mattress but James knows about anyway, somehow. She's read about racing hearts and pulses and fluttery feelings and excitement and passion, that kind of love, but she's  _seen_ love too, seen her parents, who still make each other laugh after twenty years. And she can see it being that way with James. It doesn't feel ridiculous at all, because she's  _learned_ him. She  _knows_ him.

She  _loves_ him.

All of this hits her as she breathes him in, and when he pulls away and grins down at her, she grins back giddily.

"Now," he says, "you have options. I know you think you need to revise, so –" he reaches behind a chair and produces several Arithmancy textbooks – "you can sit and read.  _Or_ I can test you, and for every question you get right, we'll have a snog."

"Right," says Lily. "And what's my prize?"

"Such a joker," he says fondly. "Or – you can forget the revision, 'cause you don't really need it, and we can do, er, something else."

Lily considers the options.

"Something else, I think."

She can revise tomorrow, after all.

James beams and tosses the books aside.

"I was  _hoping_ you'd say that."

 


	3. A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily's got a summer job, and James is suddenly a keen potioneer. No war AU.

Lily has her back to the door when the bell jingles, chiming someone into the shop, but she doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. That question is answered by the force with which the door was opened, the scent wafting in - too much aftershave, she thinks, as she always does - and the fact that - well, it's  _always_  him.

"Go away, I'm working," she calls without turning around.

"I should hope so," her boss' voice replies, deep and brusque and utterly unimpressed, and Lily gapes, horrified, then pivots wildly on the spot, apologies spilling from her mouth - "Oh, you bastard!"

James laughs like he's the funniest person to ever walk the earth, leaning against the wall for support. His cackle is so ridiculous that Lily can't help laughing too – at  _him_ , not the bloody impression, why did he have to learn how to imitate Mr. Slug? - though she forces a straight face when he looks up, gasping for breath.

"Sorry," he says wheezily.

"No, you're not," Lily chides, hiding a smile, and he tilts his head consideringly.

"Nah, you're right. That's unfortunate. Oh well, enough about me, how's it going, Evans?"

"What, doing my job? Swimmingly, until now."

Cokeworth quickly loses its appeal after a week or two at home, and in the interest of being proactive, Lily's taken a summer job at Slug & Jigger's apothecary in Diagon Alley, which seemed the most logical choice given her affinity for Potions - or it would have been, if she was actually doing anything with potions, but she's seventeen and so her days are spent tidying the shelves, labelling new stock and serving the occasional customer.

Most of the customers are James Potter.

He comes by almost every day, sometimes with Sirius but usually by himself, and every time he buys something that she's fairly sure he has no need for. She asked him on the first day what his supply needs were and his answer - "incendiary, mostly" - couldn't have surprised her less.

She's careful not to let him at the really dangerous stuff.

She pretends otherwise, but his visits brighten otherwise dull days, and it's only those - and the money, and the fact that it's something to go on her CV - that stop her from chucking in the towel.

"Anyone would think you weren't pleased to see me," James says.

"Anyone would think I needed to work," she fires back, raising one eyebrow pointedly - she sees his mouth quirk, and remembers his confession that he's always envied that gift - "and actually get stuff done, instead of hanging around chatting."

"Do you call this chatting? Because I call it hurting my feelings."

In lieu of a response, Lily presses her lips together and shakes her head. It's so effing hard not to laugh when he makes her goddamn insides  _sing._ Bloody James Potter.

He leans against the counter, propping himself up on one elbow, and shoots her a dopey grin. "C'mon, Evans, you know you love it when I'm here."

"You could get a summer job too," she points out. "Make yourself useful, y'know?"

"I have a summer job already." He spreads his hands wide, waits a beat, then: "Bothering you."

"You're not getting paid for it."

"Seeing your lovely self is payment enough."

Lily groans. "You're cheesier than a sandwich, you are."

"Is it a cheese sandwich? Because otherwise –"

Footsteps sound on the stairs at the back of the shop, and Mr Jigger galumphs into the main area; James hastily straightens up to peruse the nearest shelf, and Lily asks in her most charming tone, "may I help you with anything?"

"No, I'm just looking, thank you," James replies, more polite than she's ever heard him.

Mr Jigger grabs a jar off one shelf, mutters something to himself and bounds back up the stairs out of sight, and Lily relaxes. James returns to the counter at once; he stands directly in front of her and gazes at her very intently.

"What are you doing?" Lily demands, finding herself suddenly rather giggly with his eyes boring into her face.

"Oh," says James, not moving, "just looking."

 _Of course_. Well, two can play at that game. Lily takes a deep breath and stares right back at him, willing herself not to become distracted by the line of his nose, or that jaw, or -

He crosses his eyes, and she gives a loud, involuntary snort.

"You have to stop," she begs, as he grins triumphantly. "You're going to get me sacked!"

"Now, you can't blame me for that. It's not my fault you're a terrible employee."

She fixes him with the firmest look she can muster, and he gives in, holding up his hands in a supplicating gesture.

"All right, all right, I'm going," he grumbles, though she can tell he isn't really cross.

Not five seconds after he's left, Mr Jigger reappears and informs her that he's leaving for the day.

"Meetings all afternoon … it'll be just you here, m'dear, you'll be fine to handle things, won't you?"

Lily could kick herself. She wonders if she could run after James … but he's probably Apparated away. Effing  _brilliant_. Now she's stuck here alone with no company … she hopes he knows that for all her complaining, she adores his company, really does, and she's missing him horribly already -

The bell chimes. She glances up, and her heart does a funny kind of flip.

"Did you miss me?" says James cheerfully. "Bet you did. Don't even try and hide it, Evans."

She struggles to contain the urge to give him a great big hug, settling instead for a smile. "I thought you were going!"

"Yeah," he says, looking at her like she's crazy, "to get ice-cream. Obviously." He nods at his hands, each clutching a cornet, one with pink ice-cream, one with white.

 _Ridiculous_.

"Both for you?" Lily enquires.

"Course not. Here." He comes up to the counter and shoves both under her nose for inspection. "Which flavour d'you want? Cottage cheese or salmon?"

"They're not, are they?" she asks warily. After so many Every Flavour Beans incidents with James, she's inclined to be suspicious, but then you can never really be sure with wizards -

James holds his solemn, trustworthy expression for a minute before his eyes crinkle at the corners and he laughs.

"Nah. Vanilla and strawberry. C'mon, pick, they're dripping down my hand." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "Suppose you could lick it o-"

Lily grabs the strawberry cornet.

They're silent for a little while, the ice-creams disappearing quickly, then James says, "why are you here, again?"

He's got vanilla ice-cream on his nose. Just a bit, on the tip. Lily gazes at him affectionately before remembering that he asked her a question.

"I - Here? Working?"

"Yeah."

"To get experience, for the money –"

James looks mutinous. "Yeah, all right. I just think there are much better things you could be doing with your summer."

She heartily agrees, but she's not going to give him that satisfaction just yet. "Oh, really?"

"I mean," he says, sounding petulant and much younger than seventeen – why does she find that endearing?  _Why_? – "what's the point of this great long summer if you can't spend it with your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend," Lily says, and he shoots her a  _look_.

"Don't get me wrong, I love this place, really do –" he waves a hand at the damp, smelly shop – "but I can't help but feel there are better places to, uh – explore, with my girlfriend."

 _My girlfriend_. She loves it when he calls her that. She gets that fluttery feeling, like when he met her parents the other week and she got to introduce him:  _this is my boyfriend, James._ And yeah, this summer job's a pain when they've not long got together and it's exciting and wonderful and she just wants to _,_ uh –  _explore_ , other places with him – but they're going back to school together in September and some things have to be done, and it's not so bad really, ice-cream, and James taking the time to drop by and brighten her day, which she appreciates more than she can put into words.

"We've got the evenings," she says.

"Mmm. True." He stretches and yawns, rumples his thick black hair. "We still haven't even made it official, this," he adds suddenly, pointing to himself and then Lily. "Hardly anyone knows."

"How would we make it official?" Lily wonders.

"Announcement in the paper," he says promptly, like it's obvious. She blinks at him, biting the insides of her mouth so she doesn't burst out laughing. Heavens, she thinks she might be in love.

She reaches across and pats his cheek.

"You work on that," she tells him, "and I'll carry on with this job, all right?"


	4. Prelude

James was melting.

When he looked down at himself, he was surprised to find that he still had a corporeal form, and had not in fact dissolved into a puddle, because it was  _hot_. He spent nine months a year in Scotland, he simply wasn't used to this kind of temperature - and to add insult to injury, it was too hot to play Quidditch. He had tried, cloudless day after cloudless day, only to return to the ground pouring with sweat, defeated by – of all things – the sun. Bastard sun, James thought. What had he ever done to it? As if it wasn't enough that his friends had deserted him to suffer alone in the blistering heat, with even Sirius being packed off to Wiltshire to stay with his dreaded cousins. Of course, James didn't envy him – they were both absolutely certain that Sirius' oldest cousin Bellatrix was pure evil itself – but he craved company. His parents were very nice, but he was sixteen and easily bored, and they were elderly and perfectly content to sit in the shade all day, reading and talking about how hot it was.

In the second week of sweaty, mind-numbing boredom, James' mother announced that she was going to Diagon Alley to shop for clothes, and such was the extent of James' ennui – and, possibly, heatstroke – that he agreed to accompany her.

He regretted it very quickly.

Forced to endure half an hour of his mother's running commentary on the various hats on offer, he was even less impressed when, after a hat had been chosen, she decided that James was in dire need of new clothes.

"What's wrong with the cloak I have?" he demanded, when she tried to manhandle him into a peacock blue one. "I like red more than blue …"

His mother, a former Ravenclaw and – for some reason – proud of it, rolled her eyes.

"This one suits you far better, darling," she wheedled, "and it looks much smarter – oh, and it'll go perfectly with this hat, Polly dear, show him the hat –"

Polly, the eager-looking shop assistant, rushed forwards with a navy hat, trimmed with peacock blue.

"I don't need a new hat," James grumbled as his mother plonked it on his head, " _or_ a new cloak – or robes! No! Mum! Put them down!"

Lavinia removed her hands from the set of silk robes she had been stroking fondly and turned, a guilty expression on her face.

"I just want you to look nice," she said with a deep sigh. "If you will go around looking like a vagrant -"

"Harsh," said James, who knew for a fact that his hair did actually look cooler when he messed it up more.

"The truth hurts, darling," was Lavinia's riposte as she turned her attention to a rack of dress robes. James grinned; there were few better sparring partners than his mother.

"All right," he bargained, "I'll comb my hair. Just for you. Can I go now? I want to go to Gambol & Japes …"

"Not on your own," said Lavinia at once. "Not after last time."

"I've told you, I  _didn't_ set those cards off –"

"Sebastian Stebbins had no eyebrows for a month, his mother said," Lavinia cut in, "and you were the only other person near that stack of cards."

James considered his options, and then conceded, "all right, I may have knocked into the table, and I suppose that could have set them off …"

"Well, then, I had better come with you, hadn't I? To prevent you from knocking into anything else." Lavinia smiled triumphantly. For a Ravenclaw, James thought, his mother could be awfully Slytherin at times.

"Fine," he said mutinously, realising this was the best he was going to get. "Here –" he ripped off the hat and pushed it into Polly's hands. "We are going  _now?_ " he added to Lavinia, when she continued to browse the racks of robes.

"Not yet, darling, I still haven't found what I wanted. Be patient."

"But I don't want to hang around in here! It's  _sweltering_."

"It won't do you any harm to wait for once. And since you're here, you can try on these boots – Polly, the dragon-hide -"

James looked wildly around for an escape before Polly could return with the boots – and then he spotted one. Outside the café opposite, Lily Evans had just sat down at a table by herself.

James didn't even stop to think: he said quickly to his mother, "Mum, there's a classmate of mine, I'm going to talk to her until you're ready, OK?" and ran before she could protest.

It was only when he was inches from Lily Evans' table that he remembered a slight detail that was potentially very important: the last time they had been face to face, she had not been very happy with him. She had, in fact, told him that he made her sick: his cheeks burned at the memory.

Could he sidle away? No – she had seen him, clearly heading towards her, he would look like an idiot if he went in a different direction now.  _Bollocks_. He wished, heartily, that Sirius was there, because he was realising that he had absolutely no idea what to say.

He stopped in front of Lily, who looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. Merlin's balls, she was pretty, even with her face screwed up like that. His palms were growing sweatier; the day suddenly seemed much hotter, if that were possible.

"Hi," said Lily.

"Hi," said James.

Bugger, shit and bollocks. He was certain his hair had gone flat in the heat, and he simply wasn't prepared for this – he would have liked to run into her when he was with his friends, all of them laughing at a joke he'd told, or perhaps he would be re-enacting a goal – but no, he was just standing there, gormless, looking and sounding an utter prat.

"What are you doing here?" Lily asked. Her tone was not unfriendly, but she was not wearing her usual smile, either.

"I'm with my mum …" James gestured across the street. "I was really bored," he added quickly, so she wouldn't think he was a mummy's boy. "And, y'know, I thought she'd benefit from my company."

"Of course," said Lily. "Sirius not around, then?"

"Nah. Dragged off to stay with his cousins. What're you doing, then?" It suddenly occurred to James that she might be waiting for a boy – what if she was here on a date? But, he reasoned with himself, she had not asked him to leave. That was something, surely.

"I'm meeting Mary and Sonia and the rest, I got here early. My sister's driving me up the wall and in this heat I might have done something regrettable."

There it was – the cheeky smile, the comical way in which her eyebrows danced as she spoke … that had not been the Lily Evans that James had come up against in June. But she seemed to have got over her problem with him … or was it that he wasn't dangling her friend upside down in the air? Girls were hard to read.

"I could be wrong, but I don't think the underage magic thing applies when it comes to annoying sisters," he said, grinning now that things seemed to be going more smoothly.

"Oh, brilliant," Lily laughed. "I'll test that out, shall I, and blame you if it's not true?"

"Yeah, that'll definitely work." He adopted a feminine voice.  _"It wasn't my fault, I was going on what James Potter said …"_

"That's  _not_ what I sound like!"

"I never lie, Evans," said James gravely.

 _"I never lie, Evans,"_ Lily repeated, in a ridiculously deep voice that seemed to be going for suave and sophisticated and missing the mark considerably.

"Well, that's just silly."

"That's what you sound like!"

"It's  _not_ ," James insisted, though uncertainty was prickling at him. He thought girls liked it when men sounded mature, and what was more, he thought he'd managed to carry it off. When Lily had shouted at him, she'd mentioned him messing up his hair, playing with the Snitch (he had only done that  _once_!) and hexing people, not his voice. And he wasn't doing any of those other things right now, though the urge to sort his hair out was almost unbearable.

"It is."

"No it isn't! And how come you're allowed to make fun of my voice – my alleged voice – but I'm not allowed to make fun of  _yours?_ "

As he said this, it occurred to him that mocking the witch you liked was perhaps not the best tactic for wooing her, but he was in too deep now, and anyway, she was laughing.

"Because mine was accurate," she said, "and yours was terrible."

"I would be hurt if I weren't so dreadfully manly."

"Dreadfully is right."

"You seem dead set on being cruel to me," said James jokingly. "Why, Evans? What have I done to you?"

It was like the sun had gone in: Lily's smile faded, the light in her eyes dimmed. She had been leaning towards James, but now she sat back in her chair, fiddling with the menu on the table.

"What?" he asked, confused. "What did I say?"

She blinked at him. "If you really don't know, I can't help you."

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Sni- Snape," James said eventually.

Lily was silent.

"That wasn't to you. I didn't do that  _to you_. I didn't know he was going to say –  _that_  –"

"You humiliated both of us in front of half the school," Lily said in a low voice.

"But I didn't call you that name –"

"I know you didn't -"

"I would  _never_ –"

"I  _know_ you wouldn't. That's not the point."

Exasperated and even more confused, James ran his hands through his hair. Lily was staring down at the table, looking upset.

"I don't like being angry with people," she said quietly.

"Great," said James. "Don't be angry with me then."

Lily shook her head.

"I should go."

She stood up to leave, and James noticed, for the first time, that she was wearing a Muggle dress that left her arms and half her legs bare, something that made the hair on his own arms stand up. He had been so focused on their conversation, he hadn't noticed what she was wearing.

"You  _are_  funny," she told him suddenly, jolting him out of his wandering thoughts. "Just – not when it's at the expense of others."

James opened his mouth, realised he didn't know what to say to that, and closed it again.

"It was nice to see you," she said, more kindly. "Enjoy the rest of your summer."

"I – yeah," James blundered. "You too. See you, Evans …"

She gave a funny little wave, picked up her bag and set off down the street, bouncing along, dark red hair swinging behind her.

James, unsure of whether he was pleased or dejected, stared after her until she was out of sight, heaved a deep sigh, and went back to his mother.


	5. Bouquet

_Tumblr prompt: can you write james and lily going to vernon and petunia's wedding?_

"You  _do_ look very handsome, I'm being – would you stop fiddling with it? You don't look stupid at  _all_."

"I  _do_ ," James insists. He tugs irritably at his tie, trying to loosen the stupid thing. She's his girlfriend: she has to say he looks handsome, even when he actually looks – as he does now – a prize twat. "Are you  _certain_ this is what they wear? I don't see why I couldn't have worn robes –"

"Vernon would have forcibly ejected you from the church, that's why," says Lily, who's looking startlingly pretty herself, if a little different; her normal Muggle clothing is brightly coloured and loud, but today her dress is a muted shade and her striking hair is tied back. "Look, I promise you everyone else will be dressed like this. That's my dad's suit, isn't it? Why would he have it otherwise?"

It is her dad's suit. It's quite obviously not  _James'_ suit, because despite Lily's best efforts, it just doesn't hang right, slightly too short in the sleeve and ankle. He feels as if he'll stick out like a sore thumb, and that's not what they want; he knows that's why Lily's dressed as she is, out of deference to the fact that it's her sister's day, and she is merely a guest.

Not a bridesmaid.

"OK," he says, giving in. "I believe you. Let's go, shall we?" He holds back the words he's thinking:  _and get this over with_ , and takes Lily's hand.

Their destination, St. Mary's Church, is not in Cokeworth, Lily and Petunia's home, but in Surrey, where he's reliably informed the newlyweds will be living. He keeps hold of Lily's hand as they troop inside the chapel, steadily filling with guests who are all – to his relief – dressed similarly, in plain suits and pastel coloured dresses. They're directed to the bride's side and settle into a pew somewhere in the middle. James decides not to observe that family are usually up near the front, instead flicking through the Order of Service. Lily keeps up a stream of chirpy commentary; he learns that Vernon and Petunia are thoroughly unreligious – "it's all a bit too magic-y for them" – but are having a church ceremony for propriety's sake more than anything else.

The groom himself is now at the altar, smugness painted all over his walrus-like face. James resists the temptation to throw something at him. His wand, tucked safely inside his jacket, is horribly tempting … but he promised Lily. He's to be on his best behaviour today, and later, at the reception, make amends for their last meeting.

No matter how difficult that might be.

The organ strikes up and Lily's sister glides down the aisle, arm-in-arm with their father. James knows as much about wedding dresses as he does Muggle suits, but he thinks Petunia's suits her: ostentatious but somehow still boring, in that shade of white that no dirt would dare approach. The bridesmaids are in a shade of salmon pink that would have clashed horribly with Lily's hair. He tells her this in a whisper, and she smiles, just slightly, though he thinks tears aren't far away.

And he almost cries too: from boredom. From his experience, magical weddings are far more interesting, and he's yawned his way through far too many hymns before Vernon and Petunia finally become husband and wife.

"Your brother-in-law," he mouths to Lily, who swats him with her handbag.

Two glasses of champagne later, and James is enjoying himself a lot more.

The reception is in full swing, dance floor fit to burst (it's surprising him how friends of Vernon and Petunia can be so lively) and bubbles freely flowing. Lily, having just returned from dancing with her dad, is sitting opposite him, rubbing her feet. Both she and Mr Evans are terrible dancers.

The newlyweds are in the middle of the floor, swaying to a passable attempt at the rhythm of yet another song James doesn't know, though he likes this Muggle music. He's listened to some of Lily's records, after all, so he wasn't expecting much, but it's not half bad.

"You know, I had to stop myself from switching the record for their first dance," Lily confesses suddenly. She's tipsy, James can tell from her bright eyes and flushed cheeks; it's ridiculously endearing, and makes him want to laugh, but also kiss her.

"What to?"

"The Lovin' Spoonful's  _Do You Believe in Magic_."

James chokes on his champagne. It shoots out of his nose and he splutters, still snorting with laughter; people at the next table send disapproving glances their way and tut as loudly as permitted by social decorum.

Mopping his streaming eyes with a napkin, he gasps, "Merlin's balls, I wish you had."

"Weeeell," Lily says, "I didn't do it for their first dance, but … I did slip it in. Some others, too.  _Witchy Woman_. And  _Strange Magic._ And  _I Put a Spell on You_."

"They're going to kill you," James tells her, slightly awed. "They're absolutely going to kill you."

"Mm. Maybe." Lily looks unconcerned. "Have you spoken to them yet, anyway?" she adds, suddenly serious. "You said you'd –"

"I know. I will."

"They're sitting down, look." She points to the top table. "Let's go now, before they leave."

Deeply reluctant – though he'd do anything for Lily, really – James allows himself to be towed across the room. Vernon sets something off in him, that bad side; it's unbelievably hard to hold his tongue. But he has to try. For Lily.

Vernon and Petunia are deep in conversation –  _about what? The carpet?_ – and Lily makes them hover, waiting to be noticed. Watching the couple, James thinks he can see the sisterly resemblance now; Petunia looks happy, as if completely unaware of her recent marriage, and though he can't quite put his finger on  _what_ they have in common, there's something there, some glint in the eye maybe, or the smile. They're so different in every way that it's unnerving to see; he's almost relieved when Petunia, noticing them, breaks off abruptly, and her expression becomes cold and hostile.

"Congratulations," James offers, as warmly as he can. "It was –"  _what do people say about these things?_ – "- it was a lovely ceremony."

Petunia purses her lips. Vernon says nothing, but his face is slowly reddening.

" _Anyway_ ," James presses on, "I thought – I'd apologise for how our last meeting went. It wasn't –"

"Have you eaten enough, Petunia dear?" Vernon cuts across him loudly, completely blanking him. "Very good catering, isn't it? It's a shame we had to waste some on  _unwelcome guests_."

James stares. Beside him, Lily has visibly stiffened, her face contorting.

"You can't just –"

"Go away," Petunia snaps. "Can't you see my husband and I are having a private conversation?"

Lily lets out an outraged noise, grabs James' hand and wheels them around, but they've barely taken a few steps when they hear Vernon's strident tones again, rising in volume so that they catch the end of his sentence:

"… not even made an effort, look at his hair. Thinks because he's some sort of amateur magician he can just show up as he likes …"

It's such a ridiculous insult it's almost funny, but James is fuming, because the bastard didn't even give him a  _chance_. He can't look at Lily, can't bear to see her disappointment: she wanted to make things up with Petunia so badly, he  _knows_ that, and it hurts him, it pains him physically, to know he's let her down …

He doesn't realise he's grabbed his wand until Lily gently prises it from his hand.

"No magic," she says forcefully. "I know that – I  _know_ , but no magic here."

Her touch calms him, and he feels instantly brighter. "In that case, you won't know anything about your new sister-in-law's wine glass mysteriously shrinking earlier."

A sheepish smile twitches at Lily's lips. "Of course not. What are you implying?"

"Oh, nothing." He laughs and kisses her cheek. Maybe he could write a letter, he's thinking. Maybe he could go and see the Dursleys when they've calmed down a bit. He mustn't give up, that's all. He can't give up, when it would make Lily so happy.

"Excuse me, miss?"

A small pageboy, no older than ten, has appeared at their table, looking hopefully at Lily.

"Could I have this dance, please?" he requests formally, and she looks at James with such a comical expression that it's a struggle not to burst out laughing, but it's with a straight face that she nods and holds out her hand for the pageboy to take.

"I'm keeping my eye on you," James calls after her.

No sooner has she disappeared into the throng than her seat is filled by her father, red in the face, tie askew.

"Mr Evans, how are you?"

"Wishing I'd worn more comfortable shoes, that's how I am," Mr Evans says jovially. He slaps James on the shoulder and grins. "Now, how are you, lad? Nice to see you here. Lily's delighted you came."

"Of course," James says, surprised. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." He gestures at the scene, and adds, "it's a good party – wedding, I mean."

"Well, I should hope so," Mr Evans jokes. "Out of my pocket!"

James doesn't mind making conversation with Lily's dad – he's a nice man, friendly, easy to talk to, and it's not hard to make wedding-themed small talk. "It must be strange, seeing Petunia married off now?" he says, resisting the temptation to add,  _and a bloody relief, too._

"Oh, yes. Seems like just yesterday she and Lily were running around together, barely knee-high! Still, she's happy, and that's all you really want for them at the end of the day."

"She and Vernon seem well suited."  _That's the nice way of putting it._

Mr Evans glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and says, eyebrows raised, "James, do you have something you're wanting to ask me?"

"What?" James frowns; and then the penny drops, and he rushes on: "oh! No – no, no, I –"

He trails off, distracted suddenly, because Lily's whirling past, laughing like a kid, hair come loose and streaming down her back like a river of wine, and he feels reckless, even though this isn't a risk. This isn't a risk at all.

He turns back to Mr Evans and says, "actually … actually, yes. I do."


	6. Occupational Hazards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a lot of swearing and reference to sexy times in this one. Very uncharacteristic for me as I am a grandmother in a twenty-two year old's body. Naturally, on tumblr it's one of the most popular things I've ever written ...

AU prompt from tumblr:  _one night stand before the first day of your new job and oops that was your boss you were sleeping with.  
_  
It all happened so  _fast_.

At the time it seemed like a good idea. She'd had nothing else to do except stay at home feeling nervous all evening, probably not sleeping on top of it (of course, she still didn't end up getting much sleep, but –) and Mary's suggestion that they go out, to take her mind off the next day, had been so much more appealing. "Let's drink like we're twenty again," she said, and bundled them off to that new club on the other side of the city.  
 _  
_That was only the beginning.

The Tube's jam-packed, and Lily squeezes herself into a miniscule space by the doors, clinging onto her coffee for dear life and desperately trying not to breathe in the tobacco haze wafting from her neighbour, because her stomach is already churning and there's a thumping pain in her head and it's only half past eight in the sodding morning. She closes her eyes and leans back as the train starts to move. A wave of regret washes over her with every throb to her temple; it's her own stupid fault that she's feeling so utterly crap, and she's sure she  _looks_ awful too because she only had time for a ten-second shower once she got back to her place, and if this isn't the worst way to start a new job then -

 _Fuck._ Fucking hell. She grinds a fist against her forehead, screwing up her eyes: she can still hear the music from the club, remembers having to shout over it, and then there was no music, but instead the hysterical laughter of the very drunk, and then there was just heavy breathing and …  _fuck_.

The worst thing is that if she wasn't on the way to the first day of her new job, a really big fucking deal, then she's pretty sure she wouldn't regret it. Drunk she might have been, but she remembers it being  _fun_ , fumbly and messy and probably really awkward but still fun and – she remembers laughing a lot, both at the club and then afterwards. He had a big laugh. And he wore glasses; she remembers tossing them aside, just before he tripped over her shoes …

The night has that fuzzy, alcohol-blurred low quality in her mind, and she wishes she remembered what happened  _then_ better than she remembers the morning: waking with a horrible taste in her mouth, seeing the time, panicking and getting the hell out of there before she woke the man sprawled over the bed, all legs and messy black hair like an ink stain on the pillow. She barely glanced at her surroundings, only noting that it was pretty damn luxurious, a big flat, spacious and shiny and smacking of money. He hadn't seemed rich when he was stumbling half-naked around the dark bedroom, when he -

Well. It doesn't matter now, does it? She's got no way of contacting him. She'll never see him again.

She regrets  _that_.

"What time d'you call this?"

"About half an hour earlier than you turned up yesterday?"

Sirius grins and lifts his coffee cup in James' direction. "Touché."

It's not easy, running your own company. It's  _definitely_ not easy, James decides, when you've got a hangover and feel a bit sick and really could have done with staying in bed, but he'd never leave Sirius in the lurch. They set the company up together and they run it together; he can't just skive off whenever he feels like it.

Potter & Black isn't exactly known for doing things by the book. James despises those companies where you only know the name of the people in your department, if that, and the only time you come face to face with the boss is when they're handing over your P45. Potter & Black isn't like that – yeah, everyone works hard, but it's fun, it's relaxed, everyone knows one another, and he's pretty sure he and Sirius are the most informal bosses ever, because what other company founders have offices on the main floor and mix openly with their employees? But they direct charities, for fuck's sake – they're all about people, right? So James likes to get to know the people who work for him, really strike up a good relationship with them.

"You look a bit worse for wear, mate," Sirius says now, following James into his office. "Thought you'd be better for last night – saw you leaving with someone …" He makes a suggestive gesture, and James smirks.

" _That_ part was good. It's the hangover I'm not so keen on."

"Get Peter to grab you some aspirin. Oh, Paul McIntyre is supposed to be calling in ten –"

"About Stockholm?" James flops down at his desk, rubbing his eyes with one hand and grabbing at papers with the other; his head's swimming and he's not sure he can think straight, let alone see. "Has he made a decision?"

"That's what he's calling about."

There's a tap at the door and Remus' head appears around it. James waves him in, keeping one hand over his eyes.

"You look rough," he observes. "Anyway, I'm just letting you both know that we have a new employee starting today, so you'll have to do the introductory interview at your earliest convenience."

"That would be never," James yawns.

"I'll pencil that in," Remus says, smiling. "D'you want a coffee?"

"Remus, my good man, I would sell my grandmother for one."

All the nerves she drank away last night are now back with a vengeance. Lily grips her cup, digging her fingernails into the cardboard sleeve, and takes a deep breath, because there's a pressure weighing on her chest now she's nearing the building. This is  _it_. Her big break. The kind of job she's waited years for, the opportunity she was starting to think she'd never get. She really can't fuck this up.

She's been here before, for her interview, but it seems like a different place now she's approaching as an employee. This is where she  _works._ This is her job!

 _I made it_ , she thinks, and the weight on her chest lightens. She lifts her chin, pulls her shoulders back, and strides towards the front doors.

Sufficiently caffeinated, and with the Stockholm deal in the bag, James grants himself a minute or two to relax. He kicks his legs up on the desk and allows his mind to wander to last night; if he's honest with himself, the busy morning has been a welcome distraction from the fact that he woke up in an empty bed, with nothing but the lingering smell of freesias as evidence of the girl who spent the night.

Running a company takes its toll. He's not short on friends, but he craves that physical closeness, those warm fiery feelings he gets from women – some women. They'll meet in a club or a bar and they'll talk and laugh and then they'll fall into his bed and as soon as morning comes, and they've left, he wishes he could have someone for longer than a few fleeting hours. He says he doesn't want to settle down and he doesn't, not really, but then –

He gets up and wanders over to the window that looks out onto the main office. Everyone looks happy, don't they? Sarah the accountant got married two weeks ago. James went to the wedding. She and her husband looked utterly over the moon, blissful, in love, and it's got him thinking that he might want that. Maybe. Someday.

Remus has just come out of his office and is heading towards the entrance. James watches as he greets someone who's standing out of sight, then turns and leads them into the main area – the new employee, James assumes, a woman, he thinks -

Remus moves aside and the newcomer steps into plain view, and James freezes.

 _It's her_.

It couldn't be anyone else: he'd know that dark red hair anywhere. He ran his hands through it, for Christ's sake. He kissed that mouth, over and over. He got intimately acquainted with that body, now mostly hidden underneath a neat grey suit – fucking hell, he and that woman have done things that make him blush to think of now in the light of day, standing in his office.

_She's going to be in his office._

_She works for him._

Fuck.  _Fuck_.

He runs through his options, but short of jumping out of the window, none seem particularly stellar. Panicking, he grabs his phone and presses the speed dial for Sirius' extension.

The busy tone buzzes harshly in his ear.

" _Fuck_ ," he whispers. Remus is still out there, the woman by his side –  _why the fuck doesn't he know her name?_ – and seems to be addressing the whole office. Introducing her, most likely, and James almost laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation: his  _employees_ will know the name of the girl he shagged before him.

He can't just stay here; he thinks he might faint. He yanks open his office door and bolts the few feet to Sirius', practically falling in, slamming the door shut behind him.

Sirius, putting down the phone, looks utterly unperturbed by the sudden disturbance.

"Everything all right, mate?"

"No," James gasps, sagging against the door. "No. Really, really -  _not_."

"What's up?"

"That girl." He points at the wall, fully aware that Sirius can't see but not really caring. "Outside. The new – the new employee. She's – it's  _her_. From last night."

Puzzlement momentarily clouds Sirius' grey eyes, before the penny evidently drops. His mouth forms a perfect 'o'.

" _You shagged the new employee?"_

"I didn't know!" James moans. "How was I s'posed to know? It's not my fault! Remus should have given me a photo and strict orders not to shag her if I met her in a club!"

"Oh yeah, definite oversight on his part," Sirius says sarcastically. "What the fuck are you going to do? She might decide to take legal action, or something!"

"Could she?"

"I dunno, it's possible. You can sue for all kinds of things these days. Shit, mate." Sirius is shaking his head. "Of all the women you could've–"

"I know. I know, all right?" James grips his hair in both hands. He's sweating, his heart is racing – he really didn't need this on top of a hangover. Alcohol, that's what got him into this mess. He wouldn't be feeling so shit and he wouldn't have fucked up so colossally. The combination is just fucking  _unfair_.

"I suppose," Sirius says slowly, "you might be all right … if she quit."

James squints at him. "Why would she quit?"

"She slept with you as much as you did with her. At least, I'm assuming." A snigger, which James ignores. "She might be too embarrassed to work here knowing she shagged the boss."

"That's true …" His panic is fading somewhat. Another thought is occurring to him, namely – if she quit, he could see her again, couldn't he? If she stayed … he doesn't know the corporate policy on dating employees …

… yes, he does. He  _is_ corporate. He can date whoever he wants. If they want to date  _him_.

"Tell Remus and Peter," Sirius advises. "It's best to have back-up. Then – I reckon you should just carry on as normal. Meet her, do the introduction thingy, act like nothing happened between you. What she does is up to her."

"Right. No, yeah, you're right. OK. Get the others in here, will you?"

Sirius picks up his phone, but Peter's at the door before he can dial.

"Ms Evans is ready for her introductory interview, if you are."

How would  _anyone_ ever be ready for something like this?

"Hang on, Pete," James says. "Can you get Remus in here? We need to – er – brief you on the – business."

"Oh, the business?" Peter says, lips twitching.

"Yes. The business. All of … all of the business."

Remus joins them a moment later.

"Ms Evans is waiting –"

"Yeah, well, that's actually what I need to talk to you about." James swallows. It's going to sound fucking terrible however he says it. "The new – her. Ms Evans."  _Evans. Too bad he doesn't know her first name yet._ "I may have – well, there's a slight chance I –"

"He slept with her," Sirius supplies helpfully.

Peter blinks. Remus looks horrified. This puts them in an awkward position, James realises. Personnel is their area. Probably. As a testament to the informality of the company, James and Sirius liked them so much at their respective interviews that they created senior positions for them. On the business cards, Remus is 'Director'. Peter is 'Events Manager' – which really boils down to kindly but firmly insisting on a limit of five parties a year.

"You – you slept with her." Remus passes a hand over his eyes. "Oh God, please tell me this was a long time ago."

"Er." James winces. "It – it might have been … last night."

"I need to sit down," Remus says faintly.

Peter takes a more positive approach to the situation. "I think it could be OK," he says optimistically. "She won't bring it up, will she? It's not very, um, professional. As long as  _we_ pretend there's nothing wrong then – "

"Exactly!" Sirius exclaims. "That's what I said! We just have to act cool."

The four of them exchange glances.

"Cool," James repeats, wiping sweat from his brow. "Cool. We can do that."

Lily doesn't have a clue what's going on, but everyone seems to be friendly. This place has the warmest atmosphere of anywhere she's ever been: there's a low hum of conversation filling the bright, open space, and a lot of people are smiling at her as she waits awkwardly for Remus, the senior director, to return. He said something about an introductory interview with the bosses before he disappeared into a nearby office with  _S. BLACK_ on the door.

Black, as in Black & Potter: the next door along reads  _J. POTTER._ The bosses, right there on the main floor, so close to everyone else? Actually interacting with her? It's unheard of.

"Ms Evans?" Remus is back, and he's followed out of the office by the small, plump man who introduced himself as Events-Manager-Peter, and two tall, dark men. One is very good-looking and vaguely familiar – perhaps she's seen his picture online – and the other is -

_Holy fucking shit._

It's a struggle not to say it out loud. Jesus, this can't be happening. It's the bloke from last night. He might have clothes on now, but it's definitely him. Black. Or Potter?

The founders of the company. The owners of the company. Her  _bosses._ And she's had sex with one of them. Less than twenty four hours ago, they were – effing -  _fornicating_ on his bed –  _of course it was luxurious, he's fucking loaded -_

Well, she was wrong before, that's for sure. Turning up hungover is not the worst – or most unprofessional – way to start a new job.

Shagging the boss is.

She realises she's staring, and kicks herself. He has to have clocked her by now – he's looking right at her, and yet there's no surprise, no shock, no horror.

Either he's already seen her, or – he doesn't  _recognise_ her?

"Bastard!" she murmurs, outraged.

"I'm sorry?" says Remus, and her face burns.

"Er – nothing," she lies, and he seems to let it slide, to her immense relief.  _Swearing at the higher ups isn't going to make things better, Evans._

"If you'd like to step into the conference room for your introductory interview?" He ushers her into the most comfortable looking conference room – in the world, probably – and indicates that she should take a seat on one side of the long table. He sits down on the other side, not directly opposite her, but a few seats along, and takes out a notepad and pen. Events-Manager-Peter sits down next to him, leaving the two seats across from her for Black and Potter.

She still doesn't know which one is which. Fuck, that's the last time she doesn't exchange names with a one-night stand. Actually, scratch that. That's the last time she  _has_ a one-night stand, if the disastrous consequences of this one are lesson enough.

"Ms Evans," says Black-or-Potter. The one she didn't shag. "I'm Sirius Black, this is James Potter –"

Rather than exclaiming  _oh, so that's your name_ , Lily smiles her most professional smile.

"So you're coming on board as our new fundraising manager," Black says. "Firstly, welcome! We like to get to know our new employees a bit before they start –" is it her imagination, or did he just sneak a glance at Potter? – "just standard stuff, nothing to worry about …" Now he does nod at Potter, who clears his throat and shuffles some papers in front of him.

He seems uneasy, Lily notices, shifting in his chair, and there's a gleam of perspiration on his forehead. His colleagues look tense, and she realises that he does know who she is. They all do.

Shit. It's all a sham. She's going to be fired, isn't she? No way are they going to let her work there. She could cause massive trouble for them. They can't have her there.

And they're probably judging her too, aren't they? She can tell, can see it in their eyes. Who are they to judge her for sleeping with a stranger?  _He_ did it too, Potter, he's just as guilty. He might be the big boss now, but last night they were equals.  
Damn it, if she's going, she's going to have some fun with this. He's not getting out unscathed.

He begins with a straightforward, "first things first, from what you've seen so far, do you think you'll settle in well here?"

His voice was much deeper last night. Wasn't it?

Lily leans forwards in her chair, hands clasped in front of her on the table.

"Oh yes," she says. "I think we'll be a very good  _fit_."

Potter's eyebrows twitch. He clears his throat again.

"It's a tasking job; you'll be facing a lot of challenges. Do you feel you can confidently – settle in and – address these challenges?"

"I think I can handle this position." Lily nods. "I'm very flexible."

A fresh bead of sweat forms on Potter's forehead. His eyes have widened slightly, but he presses on. Lily glances at the others: they look equally on edge.

"You were only at your last job for a year, I see," he says, consulting his notes. "Why did you leave?"

"Oh, well … it just wasn't getting me anywhere," Lily sighs. "Sometimes you get excited about these things and then – it's all over so  _fast_. You don't really get anything out of it, there's nothing in it for you. It's really just a routine, and it doesn't leave you - satisfied."

Potter looks very, very uncomfortable now, and she sits back in her chair, feeling triumphant. There. She might be on her way out, but he's not going to forget her in a hurry.

That – that -

 _Damn her_.

James mops his brow, mentally drained from stammering through the rest of the interview with her  _bloody_ innuendos and that smile, professional on the surface, but still cheeky somehow, with that mischievous glint in her green eyes. He has to hand it to her, she's got – what is it his grandmother calls it?  _Gumption._ She's got gumption.

And it's left him feeling even more screwed than after they were done last night, because he really fucking likes this woman. Lily Evans, as he now knows. She's made it clear she's not going to take this whole situation lying down, and yet – she didn't make a scene. She could have done.

"What are you going to do?" Sirius asks, closing James' office door behind him. "Y'know, you might not want to hear this, but I like that one. It takes some balls to criticise your boss's sexual performance on your first day."

"Thank you for your input," James says drily. "Of course, that is everything I look for in an employee –"

Sirius barks a laugh. "C'mon, you like her too and you know it. You're not really going to fire her, are you? She seems – she seems decent. I don't think she'll make a fuss."

James is silent for a minute, before he looks up at Sirius. "You know what? I think I need to talk to her. Alone. Will you send her in?"

"All right," Sirius says, moving towards the door, "but remember, there's a window in here, so if you get it on you should really close the bl- put that stapler down, all right, I'm going –"

It's only when Lily knocks at the door that James realises he could have checked his hair. Or straightened his tie.

Then he remembers that she's seen him naked, and he relaxes a little.

"Come in," he calls. Lily steps across the threshold wearing an expression that's half resignation, half defiance. Prepared to fight for her job, he thinks, and smiles to himself.

"Have a seat."

"Look," she says, before he can say anything more, "I know you're going to fire me. I know. I just want you to …" She seems to search for words, her cheeks flushed, hair falling around her face, and she's so  _vibrant_ , just as much as last night, even though there are shadows beneath her eyes and this must be pretty humiliating for her …James feels a lurch of affection so strong it takes him by surprise.

"I just want you to know that I'd be really good at this job. OK? I've wanted this for so long, and I know I screwed it up by – by screwing  _you_ , but if I hadn't, if we hadn't, then – it would have been good. I can tell you. It would have been good."

James, twirling a pen between his fingers, waits for her to finish. Then he says, "why can't it still be?"

Lily gapes at him.

"Wait. You're not –"

"I'm not firing you," he says, smiling. "Why would I? I think you've proved that you can – take any position."

She grins. "Sorry about that."

"Not at all. We welcome sexual innuendo here. Knock-knock jokes are also encouraged."

His heart's thumping in his chest, because he might be about to make the biggest mistake of his life here, but – who cares? He might not. It's an adventure, either way. You've got to take risks. And for all the shit he's gone through today – all the panic – he wouldn't have  _not_ slept with her, because they had an amazing night together, and he's got this hunch that maybe it could turn into something more.

"I was hoping," he begins, "that maybe I could take you out to dinner tonight. You see, I usually like to take my employees out  _before_ I have sex with them, but –"

"A technicality," Lily says, waving an airy hand. She's wearing that same look.

 _That_ one.  
He wants to grab her and kiss her but –

That fucking window. He'll have to get that removed.

 


	7. Down Penny Lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a response to a common trope in fanfiction - any other love interests of your OTP being generally hideous people and it being totally OUT of character for the other person to be dating them.

_1979_

"Would you look at that? Penny Boot's got married," James observed, squinting at the newspaper. "Imagine getting married at nineteen! It's mad, don't you think?"

"Barmy," agreed his wife. She rolled over to James' side of the bed and peered at the section he was reading. "Penny Boot, did you say? Your ex-girlfriend?"

"Is she?" said James vaguely. "I don't remember that … hmm … perhaps …"

Lily thwacked him with the paper. "Yes, you do, you plonker."

"I remember nothing of my life before you," said James mistily. "What would be the point? Oh, it was a meaningless existence -"

"We met when we were eleven," Lily pointed out.

"Well, that explains why it was meaningless," said James. "Don't hit me again, wretched woman! Don't say you  _want_ me to go gallivanting down memory lane, reminiscing about my old girlfriend –"

"I liked Penny," Lily said. "I –" She broke off, her lips twitching, then cried, "down  _penny_ lane!"

She dissolved into laughter, snorting as she always did, and James watched in utter bemusement. Her laughter was quite infectious, and he had to fight to keep a straight face.

"Are you quite all right?" he asked, prodding her knee. "Lily? Come back to me, my petal. I'm afraid you've lost your mind."

It took a good few minutes for Lily to stop laughing.

"It was a  _joke_ ," she told James breathlessly. "Memory lane –  _Penny_  –"

"Riiiight," said James slowly, watching her with great concern. "Have you taken a spell to the head lately?"

Lily reached for the newspaper again, brandishing it threateningly. "You're horrible," she informed James. "I can see why Penny dumped you."

"Oh!" exclaimed James, clapping a hand to his chest in mock-anguish. "Uncalled for, Evans! How you wound me –"

"I fancied you something rotten then, you know," said Lily. "And you were with Penny,  _lovely_ Penny –"

"You - you were going out with Oscar Knight! Oscar  _bloody_ Knight!" James spluttered.

Lily was silent for a moment. "Yeah, well," she said eventually, "I didn't realise how much I liked you, but it kept building up – I mean, I  _fancied_ you since about second year –"

This was news to James, who said as much out loud.

"I hated that I did," Lily explained, "because you were beastly, and I always told myself I could do better."

"And  _Oscar Knight_ was your idea of better?" James demanded.

"No," said Lily. "You were."

This took a few seconds to make sense in James' head. He looked at his wife, lying in their bed in their home, dark red hair fanned across the pillow, smiling at him.

He kissed her, or perhaps she kissed him, and any trips down memory lane were swiftly forgotten.

* * *

 _1976  
_  
Madam Pince was suspicious. Granted, this was a fairly permanent state for her, but she was  _particularly_ suspicious at this point. It was those awful sixth year Gryffindor boys; they caused trouble all over the school, so any time they set foot in her library she was on her guard, and look at them now – sitting so quietly, making no noise at all – it wasn't right at all. What was going to happen? An explosion, a duel between shelves, some horrible vandalism of her books?  
 _Something_ was afoot.

Madam Pince wasn't the only one who felt this. Peter did, too. He was usually attune to James' movements, and James was behaving very strangely: rather than working on his Charms essay (as they were all doing, so they would have time to set up that explosion later), he was instead just  _staring_ , his eyes fixed on a point beyond Remus' head. After twenty minutes, Peter could not resist temptation any longer, and he turned to see what was so interesting. Following James' gaze, he saw a group of fellow sixth years, Ravenclaw girls, immersed in work a few feet away. James seemed to be staring at pretty Penny Boot, whose blonde hair was shimmering in the late evening sun from the high windows of the library.

"Prongs!" Peter whispered, tapping his quill on James' books to get his attention. "Do you fancy Penny Boot?"

He imagined that James would be glad for this gentle encouragement to talk about his feelings, as he was probably unwilling to be outspoken about it after The Lily Evans Debacle in June. As Remus and Sirius looked up from their work, James went red.

"What're you on about, Wormtail?" he muttered.

"I think you know," Remus chipped in. "You've been staring at her as if you'd like to eat her for supper."

"You're one to talk," said James, grinning – Sirius and Peter sniggered – but then his face fell. "Oh, all right, yes I do – I can't help it, I got talking to her when she was overseeing my detention the other day and she's really funny, and her hair's so shiny and she's really  _nice_ –"

"Well, are you going to ask her out?" asked Sirius briskly.

"I dunno," said James. He looked over at Penny again. "D'you think I should?"

"Might as well," Sirius shrugged.

"Keep your voices down, Pincer's looking suspicious," Peter hissed anxiously, as the librarian's vulture-like gaze swivelled to their table once more.

"She thinks we're going to make something explode," said Sirius dismissively.

"We are," Remus pointed out.

"Well, not  _here_."

Peter's stomach gave a low rumble. Cheeks burning, he reached surreptitiously under his textbook for the bag of sweets he had stashed there.

At his touch, the bag exploded.

"Oh," James said over Madam Pince's shrieks, regarding the splattered mess that covered Peter and the table with mild surprise. "I forgot about that. Sorry, Pete."

* * *

James checked his watch nervously. 7pm on the dot. Was it weird that he'd asked Remus for Penny's patrol schedule so he could catch her? Hopefully she wouldn't think so.

He heard approaching footsteps and jumped into action, strolling purposefully around the corner. Penny was talking to Hufflepuff prefect Andrew Williams, but she stopped when she saw James: her rosy face split into a smile.

"Hullo! What are you doing round here? Not planning an explosion, I hope," she added, eyes twinkling.

"I would never," James assured her, his voice dipping lower unconsciously. He cleared his throat, and tried again: "Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, if you've got a minute -?"

Penny raised her eyebrows, but turned to Andrew. "D'you mind going on ahead, Andy? I'll catch up with you …"

"Nah, you're all right," said Andrew good-naturedly. "I can handle it." He clapped James on the back as he passed, and James felt emboldened by this spontaneous show of support. Hufflepuffs were delightful.

"So, you wanted to ask me something?" Penny prompted.

James scratched his chin, hoping the words would come out as he planned. "Yeah. Yeah, I – I was wondering – would you – I mean, there's a Hogsmeade visit Saturday next and I – if you didn't have plans –"

"Are you asking me out?" asked Penny.

"Er - yes," said James, relieved that she didn't look too aghast at that prospect. She was, in fact, smiling more widely than before.

"I'd love to," she said.

* * *

Penny Boot was lovely. But she was so much more than that, James discovered over the next few weeks. She was incredibly intelligent, and what was more, she too was curious about anything and everything; like James, she wanted to know all there was to know, she wanted to know  _why_ , she sought answers and asked endless questions. She didn't like sport, she admitted – but that was all right, James reasoned. He enjoyed  _talking_ to her, discussing all the things they found interesting but few others did, like the laws of Transfiguration and Arithmancy and  _words_ – oh, how they loved words.

And she was funny, too. She had a brilliant mind, and her jokes were excellent, clever and witty. She was quite wonderful, and James felt as if Christmas had come early, getting a girlfriend like her. Even McGonagall seemed pleased: he overheard her remark to Professor Sprout that someone like Penny would surely "keep him on the straight and narrow". Though James wasn't best pleased by this idea – though he didn't hex random students any more, he had no intention of following the rules – he appreciated that Penny was sensible, and could help him to mature a bit more. She didn't really approve of tricks, feeling that they were too old, and James had to keep any plotting out of her earshot. In any case, he was finding that with spending his limited free time with Penny, he had much less time to get up to mischief with his friends, something they were not particularly happy about.

He entered the common room one evening after a stroll in the grounds to find Sirius, Peter and Remus clustered around Lily Evans, who held a small, brightly-coloured packet in her hands. Intensely curious, James hurried towards them, eyebrows raised in question.

"Evans has got a trick," Sirius explained excitedly. "Tell him, Evans!"

"I found it in that junk shop down by the Hog's Head," said Lily, waving the packet. "It's called Screaming Sand, and I've checked the stuff on the back, it's perfectly safe. It's just – well,  _sand_ , obviously – but when you sprinkle it on the ground, it starts screaming. And then it disintegrates, so there's no trace of it." She met James's gaze, green eyes gleaming, and added, "would make for a lovely little disruption in lessons, don't you think?"

"Absolutely," said James at once, imagining the look on a teacher's face when they could not find the source of random screaming. "Especially if you do it when they're facing the class – really subtly – they'd  _see_ it wasn't anyone in the class!"

"Exactly," Lily grinned. "Fancy trying it out? Say, tomorrow, in Vector's lesson?"

"Definitely," Sirius enthused. He clapped Lily on the back, looking proud. "Brilliant work, Evans."

"I can't believe you picked this up in front of the Head Boy," said James, thinking of Lily's boyfriend of several weeks, the  _ever-so-distinguished_ Oscar Knight – captain of the chess club, academically unbeaten and famed for his chivalrous nature. He was shorter than James, though.

"Oh, I didn't," Lily laughed, looking as if the very thought was quite mad. "Oscar didn't come to Hogsmeade today, he stayed here to work. NEWTs, you know."

James, who would never dream of giving up a Hogsmeade visit to work, didn't know. But he nodded anyway, and turned the conversation back to the trick.

They did perform it in Vector's lesson – a double period, which had a tendency to drag – and it went off without a hitch. They'd selected Lily as the first to scatter the sand, given her (mostly) clean record: with her charm and brains, she was a favourite amongst teachers, and unlikely to be suspected. As they'd planned, Professor Vector was facing the class when Lily surreptitiously sprinkled some of the sand on the floor, simply letting it fall from her hand. A horrible wailing rent the room at once, causing most people to jump: inkpots and books went flying as people stared around for the source of the noise. Vector searched the room, but of course could find nothing – the sand by Lily's desk had melted away into thin air. Five minutes later, Remus scattered some sand over on the other side of the classroom: visibly unnerved, Vector demanded to know if there was some trick going on, but nobody seemed to know a thing.

"Perhaps it's one of the ghosts," Lily suggested, straight-faced. "The Bloody Baron, or – Peeves!"

"Peeves!" cried the rest of the class. "It'll be Peeves, Professor."

So when the screaming went off again twice more during the course of the two hours, Professor Vector was forced to concede that it must be Peeves, and when the bell finally rang the five culprits left the classroom extremely satisfied with themselves.

"I think that's the first time we've not even been  _suspected!_ " James remarked disbelievingly.

"You'll have to come on-board with us," Remus said to Lily, who shook her head, laughing.

Penny, who had stayed behind to ask a question, emerged at that moment. "Well, that was bizarre, wasn't it!" she said to the group, who collectively fought to straighten their expressions. "I wonder if it  _was_ just Peeves?"

"Must have been," said James breezily, as behind him Lily attempted to turn her snort into a cough.

* * *

Lily.

He had been doing so well. He had convinced himself that he was over her. Convinced himself that he wasn't affected by the way her hair swung across her shoulders, or shimmered like wine in the firelight. Convinced himself that he didn't hope she'd noticed that he wasn't being such a prat anymore.

But the two groups of Gryffindor sixth years – the boys and the girls – were growing closer as their work grew harder and the war outside grew nearer. They discussed the news together at breakfast, theorising and wondering and worrying, and James was seeing Lily as she was, always, around friends – not tense and angry and upset, not with Snape, just –  _her_. Cheeky and bright and warm, he gravitated towards her: he felt as if the sun entered the room with her, or maybe she was the sun, his sun.

(But he liked Penny, he really did ...)

Lily's jokes were not brilliant. They were not funny. Her jokes were terrible, but she laughed uproariously at every one, and her laugh made him laugh, and that was enough.

( _Enough for what?_ he asked himself constantly.  _Enough for what?)_

He found himself aching to spend time with her, delighted whenever she made moves to spend time with  _him_. One afternoon in the common room, she plonked herself down at his table even though there were others free; she merely smiled at him and buried herself in her book, as he was doing, but his chest did a funny kind of flip. It performed somersaults when she reached across the table for a quill and caught a glimpse of what he was reading.

"Is that an  _encyclopaedia?"_

"I'm drinking in knowledge," said James, unabashed.

"Oh goodness." Lily's eyebrows had shot up her forehead. "I can't believe this. You're reading an encyclopaedia! You great swot –"

"All right, what're  _you_ reading?" James retorted, launching across the table to grab her book – she scrabbled desperately, trying to hold it out of reach, but he was quicker than her. He peered at the cover, feeling laughter bubble in the pit of his stomach. " _Enchanted Encouters?_ Fifi LaFolle?"

"I need a break from schoolwork!" Lily gasped defensively. "They're  _gripping_ , all right?"

"Even my  _mum_  doesn't read Fifi LaFolle," James remarked. He turned the book over and scanned the back. "Oh, wow.  _Seraphina is spellbound when she meets the swarthy and mysterious Rueben -_ oof!" Rubbing the spot where Lily had elbowed him, he scowled at her. "I wanted to know what happened! Did his wand –"

"Stop it," said Lily, her lips twitching.

"Fine," James agreed. "Fine." He held his breath, then burst out, "did she  _Charm his matchstick?_ "

" _Stop_ it."

"Did he stir her cauldron?"

"You know, you could learn a thing or two from these books," said Lily. James stared at her, affronted.

"What makes you think I've got anything to learn?"

"You're not exactly swarthy and mysterious yourself," Lily commented.

"Outrageous," James proclaimed. Lily giggled. "Why, that's exactly what I …" he trailed off as the portrait hole opened and Oscar Knight climbed through, but to James' surprise, Oscar did not come towards them. He walked right past Lily's chair, as if he had not seen her.

James caught Lily's eye, and she gave a tiny shrug. "We broke up," she told him.

"Oh," said James.

* * *

Penny Boot was lovely. She was more than that, too. She was brilliant, she was clever, she told fantastic jokes. She was a wonderful person, and James liked her. He really liked her.

But he could not like her enough.

They broke up a week later. He couldn't have such strong feelings for someone else while he was with her; it wasn't fair. He was, for once, doing the decent thing.

"I suppose we're just a bit too different, you and I," she said ruefully, when he stammered through an apologetic speech. "You never will stop causing trouble, will you?"

"I think it's in my nature," he said. She smiled, and patted him on the shoulder, and left. James watched her go, wishing he was more sorry.


	8. Lovebirds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FLUUUUUUUFFFFFFFF

_Request for 'fluffy muggle au'_

* * *

 

 **Lily Evans**  @lilyevans90  
 _Having the day from hell already and it's only half 10_ _#help_

Footsteps sound nearby, and Lily quickly closes Twitter, pretending to type busily as her boss sweeps up and drops a wad of paper on her desk.

"These need signatures from Accounts by the end of the day."

"Right, OK." Lily bites back a sarcastic ' _wonderful',_ but she needn't have bothered: Mr Davis has already disappeared back into his office, and she's left alone again.

This day, this shitty day, is dragging her down. She tries so hard to be positive, even though she's twenty four and still stuck in the same PA job she had to take after university, because there are no jobs going in any field she'd actually  _like_ to work in, but  _this day_  (not even a Monday, it's  _Friday_ for crying out loud) has been awful from the moment she woke up - half an hour late, so of course she missed her bus, and  _naturally_ the heavens opened on the trek to the office. It might have been better, even just slightly, if she'd had a smile and a kiss from her boyfriend of four years to send her on her way, but James is away, a business meeting in Sweden, and the ache in her gut from missing him isn't helping this horrible day at all.

Positive thoughts, though. Happy thoughts. James will be back this evening: he might even be waiting for her when she gets home. And then they'll have the whole weekend to catch up …  
A thrill runs through her, but before she can lose herself in a blissful haze of wanton daydreaming, Mr Davis is back, absently smoothing down his few remaining hairs as he hovers. David Davis is a thoroughly unimpressive man – not least because of his name – and though he's good at his job, Lily always feels vaguely protective of him, motherly even, especially when she has to help him with technology. She overheard him saying, once, that she was 'indispensible', and she's felt warm towards him ever since, despite his often trying requests.

"Change of plan," Mr Davis tells her. His eyebrows are twitching, and Lily finds it hard not to stare. She smiles encouragingly at him instead. "Those Accounts … ah … signatures … shorter deadline. Than before. Ahm … eleven." He checks his watch. "Rather soon, actually."

Lily's smile slips. She, too, checks her watch. It's quarter to. The stack of paper on the desk suddenly seems a lot larger. A veritable fireworks display of swear words explodes in her head as she purses her lips and gets to her feet, gathering the papers to her chest.

"Oh, by the way," Mr Davis calls when she reaches the door, "there's maintenance in the lift … you'll have to take the stairs, I'm afraid."

Of course.

By the time she's got all the signatures – easier in theory than in practice, effing snotty accountants – and staggered back up five flights of stairs to her floor, it's one minute to eleven and Mr Davis is waiting for her. He breathes a sigh of relief when she thrusts the paperwork into his chest, the weight of it making him stumble.

"Excellent. I'll get that off now then … is there a cup of coffee on offer, I wonder?"

Lily purses her lips.  _Happy thoughts._ "Coming right up."

The phone rings as soon as she sits back down, and it's some business associate, angry because he turned up to a meeting and Mr Davis wasn't there – "well, that meeting actually isn't until  _Monday_ ," Lily tells him politely, to which the arse responds with a belligerent tirade about  _making things clear_ and  _bloody cheek_ , and even at her most charming, Lily can't placate him. At the end of her tether, she finally just apologises – gritting her teeth – and slams the phone down.

Her stomach rumbles loudly while she's updating the diary, and she reaches into her bag for her packed lunch – she doesn't really have the money to eat out every day – but her fingers close on nothing but crumpled tissues and loose change. Muttering irritably, she scrabbles instead for her purse, thinking  _screw it, I'll treat myself to a panini –_ but that isn't there, either.  
This time, a swear word (or two) escapes. She wonders if she can beg fifty pence from Mr Davis for a packet of crisps or something – though her stomach, already deprived of breakfast, protests loudly to the thought -

The door buzzes open, and she quickly pastes her welcoming face on as a tall man approaches the desk: his face is completely obscured by an enormous bunch of flowers – a  _gorgeous_ bouquet, riotous colour, gerbera daisies and tulips and yellow roses – Lily's favourite flowers. Surely no one would send Mr Davis such a thing, she thinks, her mind racing – are they a delivery from James? He constantly surprises her, even after four years together …

"Hi, can I help you?" she inquires brightly.

"I'd say it's likely," says the man, lowering the bouquet at the same moment Lily recognises his voice – warm and rich, oh how she's missed it! – and she claps her hands to her mouth.

 _"James!_ "

"The one and only," says James, grinning. He hands her the bouquet: Lily can't help burying her nose in it, breathing deeply, before she lifts her head and cries, "what are you  _doing_ here?"

In answer, James pulls out his phone, taps at it and then shows Lily the screen he's brought up. It's Twitter, and it's open at her tweet from earlier.

"I saw this," he says. "And I thought you could use a nice lunch."

"But –" Lily gapes at him. His jet hair is sticking up wildly, his tie is loose, glasses lopsided, shirt crumpled – and there's a stain on it, she notices affectionately. "When did you get  _back?_ "

"About an hour ago," says James.

"You came straight from the airport?" He nods, and she sucks in a breath – she's so touched, so overwhelmed, so bloody in love with this man.

Holding out a hand, he says, "shall we go?" and she's a fluttering mess of excitement as she gathers her things and tells Mr Davis that she's going for lunch: James' rule has always been  _if you don't ask, you can't be told no_ , and at the moment she feels like she's earned that much.

"Where are we going?" she asks once they're out on the damp street, strolling hand in hand. James' arm keeps brushing against hers, and every time it does she gets a whiff of aftershave and  _James-smell_ , intoxicating, and it's so hard not to press him up against a shop window and reacquaint herself with his mouth. A week is too long to go without James' kisses, and they haven't even kissed  _yet_ , but she's so hungry, and her stomach is leading the way.

"I dunno." James scratches his chin. "Hadn't thought that far ahead. Er – isn't there a little place along the next street?"

"That one from your birthday? Last year – no, the year before -"

"Oh God, I'd forgotten about that! Hopefully they don't remember …"

" _I_ remember," says Lily mischievously, her hand snaking briefly down his stomach with sudden disregard for the public street.

James' laugh is rather strangled as he says, "I do too, you hussy. Save it for later."

"I will," Lily promises slyly.

"You're a terrible woman."

"You love it." Lily stops, darts onto her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. Before they can keep walking, though, James stops too: he looks at her, hazel eyes suddenly boring into her.

"Hold on," he says, and reaches into his pocket. Lily waits, bemused – the street isn't busy, so they're not really in anyone's way, but she's absolutely starving and it's still drizzling and -

"Oh my God!"

He's holding a ring box.

As Lily's heart goes for gold, James lowers himself to one knee on the wet pavement. Lily can sense heads turning their way, but she's not looking at them, she's looking at James, who meets her gaze intensely.

"I've been carrying this round for ages," he says, snapping the box open to reveal a ring, simple, so beautiful – "and I was going to do it before I left, but I didn't have enough time to plan the whole extravaganza – candles and everything – and then I got on the plane and I thought, what am I doing, I can't  _wait_ , so then I was going to have everything set up for when you got home this evening, but … I just realised now … I  _really_ can't wait."

"Always impatient," Lily laughs softly. She feels like she's sinking into a warm bath: it's raining harder, cold, hard rain, and her stomach is still growling, but she doesn't need happy thoughts this time, because she  _is_ happy.

"So?" James prompts.

Lily gives him her hand.

"Come on," she tells him, grinning, "you had to know I'd say yes."

"I did," James agrees, "but my mother told me it's only polite to ask a woman before you marry her." He slips the ring on her finger, jumps to his feet, and folds her into his arms, laughing – they're both laughing.

"You haven't actually said  _yes_ ," he murmurs into her hair.

"That's so I can get out of it later," Lily says cheerfully. He pulls a  _really?_ face, then kisses her, soundly – one person, somewhere, starts to clap, and then promptly stops when no one else joins in, and that makes them laugh even harder, against each other's lips, until Lily's stomach decides enough is enough, and makes such a loud noise that James jumps backwards in surprise.

"Wow," he says, impressed. "Let's get you some food." He pauses, then adds happily, "Mrs. Potter."  
*

**Favourited by James Potter**

**Lily Evans @** lilyevans90  
 _What do you know … my day picked up :D_

 


	9. Dare You To Move

He apparently hadn't shaved that morning: dark stubble had gathered along his narrow jaw. His hair looked messier than usual, too. Lily admired these things for a moment, and then moved onto gazing at the way his glasses emphasised the long, straight line of his nose from this angle. With his brow furrowed, he appeared deep in thought as he watched Professor McGonagall speaking – until Peter, sitting on his left, muttered something in his ear, and he stiffened, his back straightening. His hand, which had been tapping against the desk – he was  _never_ still – suddenly went to his hair, froze, and then came back down.

He had nice hands, Lily thought. Long and thin, like the rest of him. She imagined those hands on her waist, gliding up her body, and felt blood rush to her face; how would it feel to have his fingers slip beneath her robes, or brush against her face as he kissed her …?

A sharp prod to her ribs tugged her out of her risqué fantasies and brought her back to reality with an unpleasant jolt: she was not, she realised, in a dimly lit classroom with James Potter, but rather in the middle of Transfiguration, bathed in January's meagre offering of sunlight and surrounded by people to witness her foray into indecency.

Like Mary.

"What are you looking at? You've gone bright red," she hissed.

"Nothing," Lily whispered back, hastily diverting her gaze from James' hands – one was now drumming lightly on his thigh, God help her – and returning her attention to McGonagall, who seemed to be wrapping up.

"… for homework," she was saying, to Lily's dismay. "Give examples, and do not think I won't notice if you simply refer to the textbook." One eyebrow rose, as if it, too, expected better of them. "You will hand it in on Friday. That's all; you may go."

"Bugger," Lily muttered, sparing a glance at her notes as she packed away; not only had she no idea what the homework was, but she had barely taken down a thing from the lesson. Friday's due date gave her only three days to catch up, and she had that blasted History of Magic essay, too – why had she ever thought taking  _that_ NEWT would be a good idea? And she really didn't want to work on her birthday, which was tomorrow. Past experience told her that she wouldn't even get a chance if she wanted to, given the Gryffindor boys' penchant for parties …

… which brought her thoughts promptly back to James. She shook her head furiously. What was  _wrong_ with her? She was more sensible than this – but she still couldn't stop her eyes drifting to him as he filed out of the door, saying something to Sirius that drew a bark-like laugh in response.

"You're really not with it today, are you?" Mary asked sympathetically as they left the classroom, apparently noticing Lily's inner struggle. "Did you even write down the homework?"

Lily grimaced, and Mary gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"You can borrow my notes later, if you like. Although you'd probably be better asking James or Sirius …"

"They don't take notes," Lily reminded her. "Brains like sponges, both of them. I once asked James why he still brings parchment and quills to class, and he said it was so he could work on his autobiography."

Laughing, Mary said, "well, you can use mine, then. I'll give them to you after dinner – or are you free now, too? I can never remember your timetable."

"No, I've got Potions." Walking this slowly, she was bound to be late, she realised – but Slughorn wouldn't mind, as they had already been told what potion they were making, and she was in no hurry to get there. As much as she enjoyed potion-making, the class itself hadn't been especially enjoyable at NEWT level: she was the only one of her friends to take it, with Mary, Hester and Tilly all opting for the much easier Care of Magical Creatures. Griselda, who had been her closest friend, had taken Potions in sixth-year – but her parents' worry over the growing unease in the wizarding world had led to her being removed from Hogwarts before the start of her final year. Now she was left to spend several hours a week in the dungeons with Severus and a number of other Slytherins (who routinely whispered behind her back and shot her dirty looks), a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who were nice enough but had firmly established friendship groups, and – naturally – James and Sirius, who had long ago mastered the art of being wherever there was an opportunity to blow things up.

"Late," was James' monosyllabic greeting when Lily slipped into the classroom and pulled up a stool opposite him. She stuck out her tongue.

"Late and disrespectful," Sirius tutted.

" _And_  your collar's crooked," said James, shaking his head.

Even though Lily was glad for the teasing – it posed a welcome distraction from her mind, which kept threatening to conjure up more impure images – she still scowled at them as she set up her cauldron and ingredients. "What is this, pick-on-Lily day?"

"No, that's February 23rd," said Sirius. "Put it in your diary so you don't forget."

"We're just getting it out of our systems," James explained, "since we have to be nice to you tomorrow."

For a moment, Lily had no idea what he was talking about, and then – embarrassingly slowly – the penny dropped.

"You know, some people are actually nice to others all the time," she said, "not just when it's their birthday."

"Birthday?" Slughorn had waddled over, almost knocking over Sirius' cauldron with his great belly; his eyes were alight with interest. "Don't tell me it's your birthday today, Lily my dear!"

"It's tomorrow," James told him before Lily could answer. Slughorn clapped his hands together with delight.

"Oho! Well, since I don't see you tomorrow,  _many_  happy returns to you," he said warmly. "You know, dear girl, birthdays are taken very seriously in my house, yes, indeed – we have quite the celebration! Now, if you had only been in Slytherin, you would have had a real treat tomorrow!"

"You say that, sir," said Lily, not looking up from her cauldron as she spoke, "but in reality I'd have left long ago if I'd been in Slytherin. Green just isn't my colour."

Slughorn's huge, rumbling laugh made the glass phials on the table tremble. Chuckling to himself, he bustled off to observe the other tables.

"Green isn't your colour, my arse," James remarked. Still feeling mischievous, Lily pretended to be immersed in stirring her potion, and then looked up, feigning surprise.

"What was that? Green is the colour of your arse?" She frowned. "You probably ought to get that looked at."

Sirius grinned. James looked as if he, too, was teetering on the brink of laughter, before his expression straightened and he leaned forwards across the desk.

"Are you offering to look at my arse, Evans?"

"Oh, so  _that's_  what Head duties entail," said Sirius with an air of dawning comprehension.

"How dare you," said James. "We're the epitome of professionalism, isn't that right, Evans? Apart from the occasional spot of naked wrestling –"

Lily had a sudden flashback to her Transfiguration reverie and dropped the jar of ingredients she was holding. Quick as a flash, James shot out a hand and caught it; he returned it to Lily with a grin.

Wishing she could cast a surreptitious Cooling Charm on her face, Lily clamped her mouth shut and bent over her cauldron, oblivious to the fact that James' gaze lingered on her for a good few minutes longer.

\- - -  
James watched Lily hurry away, long dark hair swinging, and resisted the temptation to whoop. When Peter had told him in Transfiguration that she'd been staring at him, he'd hardly dared to believe it, but her heavy blush when he'd teased her during this lesson seemed to confirm it: she  _fancied_ him.

She fancied him!

Laughter bubbled in his stomach. Turning to Sirius, he began, "mate, d'you reckon –"

"Yeah, she does," said Sirius at once. "Dead obvious, innit? You should ask her out."

Images flooded into James' mind, images of him sharing an armchair with Lily, walking with her by the lake, kissing her in the corridors. "I will. I think. But what if -"

"She's not going to say no this time," Sirius told him matter-of-factly. "She's not. Look, why don't you ask her at the party tomorrow? She's bound to say yes when she sees everything you've done."

"It's not that much," James protested, but even he knew that was a lie: he couldn't ignore the fact that he had a notebook dedicated to the party, filled with lists of what food would be served and what music would be played and which of Lily's friends from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff would be invited. Sirius, Peter and Remus had all been designated specific duties to carry out in order to make sure everything went off without a hitch, because although they'd thrown a lot of parties over the years, this was the big one. It  _had_ to be perfect.

"Right, chaps," he said an hour later, pacing the dormitory with a ferocious gait that was only slightly impeded by the amount of underpants that littered the floor. "Let's go over this one more time."

"No," said Remus.

James stopped pacing. "No?"

"We've got it," Peter told him earnestly. "We really have."

Uncertain, James began, "well, just to be sure, perhaps we should –"

"No!" cried the others. Sirius, lounging on James' bed, threw a pillow at him.

"Look,  _we_ know our parts, the house-elves couldn't be more prepared, they're raring to go, and Rosmerta's got the drinks waiting behind the bar for me and Moony to get them at seven," he said, yawning as he spoke. "Will you just relax? It's  _fine_."

"I haven't seen you this het up about something since the Arrows vs. Falcons match last summer," Remus observed.

"THAT WAS A FOUL!" James roared; Peter jumped, almost toppling off his bed. "That was a – no! Don't even go there!" The others smirked, and he rounded on Remus, gripping his hair wildly in his hands. "Moony!  _Why_ would you mention that when I'm already stressed?"

"That's my point," said Remus, sounding exasperated. "You're never stressed about trivial stuff!" He fixed James with a pointed look. "I thought you would've worked out by now that you and Lily became friends when you  _stopped_  putting on a big show."

There was a long silence. James sat down heavily on Sirius' legs.

"I thought she'd like a big party," he groaned. "Bloody fuck! I've done it again, haven't I?"

Peter shook his head. "I think you're all right. She's not going to  _not_ like the party, is she?"

"Isn't she?" asked James anxiously. "What if it scares her off? We're not even going out, and oh shit, it's going to be so  _obvious_ , I haven't done anything like this for anyone else –"

"We'll get over it," said Remus dryly.

"Prongs," Sirius cut in, as James was wondering how Remus could  _possibly_ still be annoyed about the moon-themed party they'd thrown him the year before, "I've got two pieces of advice for you."

James heaved a sigh of relief. "Brilliant."

"Firstly," said Sirius, "a party isn't going to stop Lily liking you, so you should stop worrying and just be like you have been around her for the last year or whatever. You should also brush your teeth before the party, 'cause I reckon you'll be snogging her by the end of the night."

"You reckon?" James started to feel more hopeful, his earlier optimism returning. "What's the second bit? Or was that it, the teeth thing?"

"No," said Sirius. "The second bit is to get the fuck off my legs, because I'm going to punch you in the bollocks if you don't."

Someone - and she had a very good idea of who – had done an astounding job of spreading the news of Lily's eighteenth birthday throughout the school. She was waylaid so many times on the way to her first lesson, Ancient Runes, that she burst into the classroom five minutes late, but even Professor Babbling seemed to be aware of the occasion, and waved Lily's apology away with a genial smile. Sirius, who strolled into the room a good five minutes after that, did not fare so well.

"And where are Potter, Pettigrew and Lupin?" Babbling demanded. Lily strained to hear Sirius' answer as she unpacked her things: she had noticed that they hadn't been at breakfast, and it was most unusual for the foursome to separate and leave only one behind. Ancient Runes was always incredibly entertaining with the four of them around: she was fairly sure they'd only taken it this far in an attempt to communicate with each other in complex code.

"Pettigrew ate a dodgy kipper at breakfast, so Lupin's taken him to the hospital wing," Sirius drawled, "and Potter's got a meeting with Professor Dumbledore – he sent you a note, didn't you get it?"

"No," Babbling snapped, though she looked uncertain; Sirius sounded extremely convincing.

Sirius pulled a face. "Oh dear. I hope you haven't lost it, Professor. If the Headmaster himself took the time to write you a note –"

"All right, that's enough, Black. Go and sit down."

Lily couldn't hide a smile as Babbling immediately turned to her desk and started hunting through a pile of papers. Sirius, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, sauntered to the back of the class and sat down next to her.

"James isn't with Dumbledore, is he?" she asked in a low voice. "And Peter and Remus weren't even  _at_ breakfast."

Sirius, who was rummaging in his bag, pretended not to hear her. "Happy birthday, Evans," was all he said, as he thudded a roughly wrapped rectangular package down on her side of the desk.

Lily looked at it. "What's this?"

"A birthday present," said Sirius. "Typically received on a person's birthday. Clue's in the name, but it's OK, no one's expecting you to notice things like that."

"Sod off." Lily was prodding experimentally at the parcel. "I  _meant_  – well – oh, you didn't have to get me a present! I didn't get  _you_ anything –" She broke off, troubled, and looked at Sirius, to find him scowling at her.

"Just open the damned thing, will you?"

Lily hesitated, and then pulled apart the misshapen wrappings. A book was revealed, leather-bound, with gold embossed letters:  _The Dark Arts Defied: Useful Potions and How to Make Them.  
_ Suppressing an urge to squeal, Lily thumbed through it: potions she'd never heard of filled the pages, complete with clever diagrams and lists of ingredients. Healing potions, mild incapacitating agents – even a section on how to use basic potions in a defensive manner!

She became suddenly aware that Sirius was watching her closely for her reaction, as though the manner in which she was poring over the pages wasn't indication enough.

"This is fantastic!" she enthused, clasping the book to her chest. "Honestly, Sirius, you really shouldn't have, it's too much – this must have been so difficult to track down, I've never even heard of it before …" As she trailed off, she realised the significance of her words. Sirius must have gone to some trouble not only to find it, but to think of a gift that she would love. It was incredibly touching: they'd had a few moments of surprisingly deep conversation over the last few months when left alone together, but Lily would never have considered them particularly close. Perhaps Sirius did.

Biting her lip, she said, "really, I can't thank you enough."

"It's not a big deal," Sirius parried, looking faintly abashed.

"No, it is, I'm really –"

"Evans!" he growled. "Leave it, all right?"

Lily left it, but she still smiled as she tucked the book safely in her bag.

By the time evening had fallen, she was positively giddy: as she brushed out her hair in front of the mirror, her reflection kept beaming back at her. Downstairs in the common room, she knew, the final touches were being made to the set-up for her party: she had been hustled past to the stairs with hands plastered over her eyes after dinner by the very eager sixth-year boys, whose hands had lingered on her for longer than was strictly necessary. The unmistakeable air of anticipation that always preceded something like this had been permeable, even to Lily's impaired senses: hushed voices, busy movements, delightful smells. The fact that a lot of effort was clearly been gone to didn't escape her: James hadn't been in any lessons that day except for Transfiguration, though he'd hurried out of the classroom before Lily could speak to him. He was the mastermind behind all this, whatever it was, and that made her feel incredibly warm inside: she wondered, not for the first time, if he still liked her, and the thought made butterflies erupt in her stomach.

"Great haul," Hester called from Lily's bed, where she, Mary and Tilly were examining the presents she'd received. "This book from Sirius, it's perfect for you, I can't believe  _he_ did that –"

"Oh! That reminds me! Ooh, Lily, this'll tickle you," Mary burst out. "Penny Boot, the Ravenclaw, you know, she asked me in Magical Creatures what James Potter got you, and when  _I_ asked why she thought he must have got you something,  _she_ said she thought you were going out, but you were keeping it quiet!"

"She didn't look very happy about it, either," Tilly added. "Didn't she go with James for a while back in sixth year?"

"Only for a month," Lily supplied without thinking. Her mind was spinning: Polly  _had_ gone out with James, so it was possible that she saw something others didn't – in his mannerisms, or his expression, or the way he acted around Lily – but oh, if there were signs to read, why hadn't James asked her out yet? He was so impulsive, it was unlike him to ever wait around …

"She's blushing!" Hester crowed. " _Lily_ , you fancy him, you  _do!_ Oh, we should have known!"

Lily hesitated. "Well … perhaps a little," she conceded eventually; the others squealed in delight. "You can't tell him, though! We're friends now, I don't want to wreck things."

"But he must fancy you too," said Mary with a frown. "He definitely used to, and there's no reason why that should have changed." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "After all, he  _did_ ask you out, before, and you said no – he might be scared you'll say no again."

"Of course I said no!" Lily cried. "Who wouldn't have said no to that? But I wouldn't  _now_ , it's completely different …"

"Well, I'm putting a Galleon on him asking you out tonight," said Tilly confidently. "Think about it – he's always got his clever schemes and plans and the like, hasn't he?  _I_ bet he's just been waiting til tonight."

"Alcohol, music … dancing," Hester chimed in, eyebrows twitching meaningfully.

Lily looked at them all, beaming at her with assurance in their eyes.

"All right," she said, reaching for her powder brush. "I'll dare to hope." The brush was pointed threateningly at each of them in turn. "But sod you all if you're wrong."

She looked like she was enjoying herself. Heck, James thought, she looked like she was having the time of her life, weaving through the common room, goblet in hand, chatting and laughing merrily with the people she came across. Her long hair had been pinned back on one side and was swinging across her shoulders, glimmering scarlet where it caught the light. James thought she always looked beautiful, but somehow she seemed to achieve a different kind of beautiful every time he saw her.

It was a hell of a party, he couldn't deny: everything had gone exactly as planned and now the common room had been transformed into a grotto of sparkling lights and crimson and gold decorations. The alcohol was flowing, music blasting from every corner …

"James," said a voice in his ear, obviously straining to be heard above the music, and he turned to see Polly Mayhew, the Hufflepuff prefect and friend of Lily's, smiling at him. She blushed as she went on, "um, would you like to dance?"  
 _  
_James instinctively looked over at where Lily had been standing. She wasn't there, and his stomach turned over – why? _Because you always want to see her, idiot_  – before he spotted her a few feet away, dancing with one of the sixth year boys he'd enlisted to get her across the common room earlier.  
 _James Potter, you're a pillock._

He suddenly realised that Polly was still waiting for an answer and returned his attention to her, hoping his distraction had gone unnoticed.

"Uh – yeah," he said, heart in mouth. "Why not?"

 _Make him jealous_. What a stupid idea that had been. What if he had been  _about_ to ask her to dance? But she'd gone and cosied up with John-the-bloody-sixth-year, and so he'd decided she wasn't worth the hassle and that he'd rather dance with Polly. Why wouldn't he? Polly was lovely. She was sweet, and clever, and James would be lucky to have her.

The thing was, Polly would be extremely lucky to have James, too. He was brilliantly intelligent and funny, he was a talented sportsman, he was good-looking in his lanky, loping way.  
But he was also kind, and generous, and loyal to a fault. Did Polly know these things? Would she appreciate those qualities like Lily did?

Lily watched them dance, James' hands on Polly's waist, and felt a horrible hollow sensation in her chest. Blinking furiously, she turned her gaze elsewhere, and saw John-the-bloody-sixth-year surrounded by wide-eyed boys as he recounted some tale that was evidently being well-received. As she watched, he pointed directly at her, then began to illustrate his story with hand gestures that seemed to indicate that he was either telling the porkiest of pies, or that she'd had a lot more to drink than she thought. Given her recent tendency for unseemly fantasies, she assumed it was the former: it was unlikely that she wouldn't notice someone who wasn't James getting acquainted with her womanly assets.

"That backfired on you, didn't it?"

Sirius had approached her, swigging Firewhiskey like it was pumpkin juice. He, too, was looking at James and Polly as he went on, "you've nothing to worry about, Evans. James is a one-witch bloke."

Lily considered feigning ignorance, or outrage, but what was the use?

"One witch in particular?" she asked, trying to conceal the hope in her voice.

"I thought you were intelligent, Evans," said Sirius.

"He likes me?"

A roll of cool grey eyes, but no answer. "Why haven't you asked him to dance? It's your party. You can do what you like."

"He's dancing with Polly," said Lily flatly.

Sirius shook his head. "No, he isn't."

And he wasn't: the song had ended, and James was positively  _speeding_ over to them, tripping over his shoelaces, leaving a bemused Polly in the middle of the floor. Lily felt sorry for her, but she couldn't help the rush of joy that shot through her as James drew level with her, eyes straight ahead, and opened his mouth.

He couldn't stop the words that blurted from his mouth, couldn't if he'd wanted to, because the whole time that he'd been dancing with Polly he'd been thinking about Lily. There was no other word for it – dancing with someone else felt  _wrong_. He'd never danced with Lily – for all he knew, she'd step on his feet the whole time – but he had a striking suspicion that she could stamp on his toes in high heels and he wouldn't give a damn.

So what if she'd danced with someone else? If anything was worth a shot, this was.

"D'you want to dance?"

Pause for a fraction of a second. Then Lily nodded shyly, and as Sirius grinned and winked over the top of her head, James led her into the middle of the floor.

"I should warn you now, I'm a spectacular dancer," he told her.

"Oh, bring it," she replied, holding out her hand.

James had sat next to her on numerous occasions. He'd hugged her before, when the screaming Gryffindors had spilled out onto the pitch as the Quidditch Cup had become theirs, but those had been brief hugs, barely anything, and he'd been so high on adrenaline and happiness that they'd hardly impacted on him. More recently, his hand had brushed against hers when they'd been working in the small Head students' office, skin against skin, and there had been a jolt of  _something_ , but compared to this?

This was  _everything_.

He entwined his fingers in hers, willing his not to tremble as they slot perfectly together. Her palm was slightly sweaty, as he was sure his was, and he wondered if her heart was thumping as loudly as his.

The music started, a fast tempo, upbeat song. James spun and twirled her, never once releasing her hand: Lily laughed the whole way through, clutching her stomach with her free hand when he demonstrated his moves (improvised on the spot), and then she obliged with a few ridiculous kicks and flicks that somehow turned their dance into a jerky kind of jive, right there in the middle of the common room. James was sure there were people laughing, all around, but he couldn't care less because  _he_ was laughing and Lily was laughing too. When the song faded out and was replaced with another, Lily didn't pull away, but cried "quickstep!" and they paraded around the room, this time closer together. She smelt incredible to James' senses, long hair flicking this way and that past his nose as they moved, somehow in sync. Who was Polly, and why had he ever thought he might like to dance with her? He'd been put through the traditionalist pureblood rigmarole of ballroom lessons in his youth, he knew his stuff, but he'd never had  _fun_.

"God, I'm so unfit," Lily panted when the second song drew to a close, resting a hand on James' shoulder for support. She was bright red in the face from their energetic performances, hair sticking to her forehead: how did she still manage to look so pretty?

"We'll have to do this more often," he suggested. She grinned up at him.

"I wasn't really pulling out the moves then, you know. I would have done, but I was afraid it would decimate the whole room."

"Oh, well, we can't have that. Not on your birthday." He gaped at her, struck with a sudden realisation: "Hey, I haven't given you your prese-"

The rest of his sentence was lost as the music suddenly screeched to a halt, the dancers around them following suit. Heads turned, slowly, towards the portrait hole. James stared too, his heart sinking: he had never been less glad to see his favourite teacher, and by the look on her face, she was feeling much the same way.

"What on  _Earth_ do you think you're doing?" McGonagall demanded shrilly. "It is two in the morning –"

 _Was it?_ The time had flown -

"- and I cannot possibly see why you feel it necessary to create such a ruckus!  _Alcohol_ , on a school night! Music so loud I could hear it from my office! What explanation is there for this?"

Reluctantly, James let go of Lily's hand and stepped forwards, clenching his fist to fight the sudden chill that shot through his fingers.

"Potter!" snapped McGonagall before he could speak. "You are Head Boy! You and Miss Evans should have put a stop to this hours ago!"

"Professor, I'm so sorry," said a voice that was not James', and Lily moved to stand next to him. "It's my fault. This was my birthday – it's entirely on me."

"No, it's not," said James at once. "I organised the whole thing. Lily had nothing to do with it."

" _We_ organised it," Sirius chimed in, and Peter and Remus nodded shamefacedly.

McGonagall's lips were a thin line. "I had hope that I no longer needed to say this to any of you, but you should know better by now," she said coldly. "You have responsibilities now. I'm extremely disappointed in you all."

Ah, there it was: McGonagall knew all too well that disappointment was far worse than anger. Still, this time, James couldn't feel too bad about it. He didn't regret it: he would never regret doing something nice for somebody.

For Lily.

"Needless to say, this stops right here," McGonagall went on. Her beady eyes scanned the room, taking in the Firewhiskey bottles and trampled streamers and crumbs that littered the floor. "Potter, Evans, you will see that this room is returned to its original state before breakfast. No, not now: I want you all in your dormitories within five minutes, am I making myself clear?" A pause. "Well, what are you all waiting for? Upstairs, now!"

When James turned around, Lily was gone.

"Sod you all," Lily moaned. "You were  _wrong_."

Mary, Hester and Tilly, all safely tucked beneath their covers, didn't seem to register her announcement. Then, after a moment or two, Mary croaked, "what're you sayin'? S'early …"

"I know it is," said Lily grumpily. "And I've got to go and clean the bloody common room."

She wasn't really irritated about that: it was her fault, after all, and it wasn't fair that James in particular was taking some of the flack for it, though she'd known that he would. No, it was the fact that she was still so  _uncertain_  about everything. Would he have asked her out, if McGonagall hadn't interrupted? Or would they have continued having fun? Was that so bad?  _Could_ they have both – fun and romance? And when it came to it, which would she rather – attempt romance, and risk losing what was to her a hugely important friendship, or remain friends and remain wanting?

She clawed through her hair, dismissing her reflection, with its dark shadows and pale, drawn complexion, and made her way down to the common room.

"Morning," said James.

He stood by the fire, sweeping his wand over the debris that lay by the hearth. He didn't look as though he'd barely slept: although his jaw was distinctly more stubbly than the previous day, it suited him, but Lily couldn't bring herself to be annoyed with him. On the contrary, she felt much better just being in his presence.

"Morning," she replied, offering a faint smile, which he returned in full.

"Before you start," he said, putting down his wand, "I've got something for you." He reached over to the nearest armchair and retrieved a present, wrapped in Gryffindor scarlet, crossed the room in two long strides and handed them over.

"You didn't have to –"

"I know I didn't."

Lily hoped her eyes sufficiently conveyed her gratitude, but she had a feeling they would never accomplish that feat. She pulled off the paper, hardly daring to breathe, aware that James' eyes were fixed unblinkingly on her.

It was a book;  _Muggleborns Who Made History_. Lily gazed at the cover with a strange feeling rising through her chest. People always either tried to ignore her blood status, like Severus, or hated, ostracized her for it –  _like Severus_ , she thought wryly. But here James was acknowledging it …

"Here," he said, and he reached out and flipped the book swiftly to the centre. "This is a limited edition."

"What do you mean?" Lily started to say, and then she forgot the words completely, because there in the middle of the book was an entry titled  _LILY EVANS_. Illustrating the page, which described her as  _a force to be reckoned with_  and  _the first person to make Potions cool, ever_ , was a large drawing of a girl with crimson hair wielding a sword against a crowd of masked figures.

"The sword of Gryffindor," said James, pointing. " _Where dwell the brave at heart."_ He grinned. "I figured you'd end up in here anyway – I'm just jumping the wand a bit."

Lily's nose prickled: she felt her eyes fill with tears. He wasn't just acknowledging it, he was celebrating it. He was celebrating her.

"This is beyond incredible," she said thickly. "James – thank you  _so much –"_

Words weren't enough; she launched herself forwards, narrowly avoiding thunking him in the head with the book as she flung her arms around his neck. His wrapped around her without hesitation: the arm of his glasses dug into her cheek, but his hands were on her, and oh God, it was so much more than she could ever have imagined in some seedy daydream in Transfiguration.

She snorted at the thought, and James pulled away, grinning.

"What? Is my hugging that bad?"

"No," said Lily, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "It's actually fantastic. Best hug I've ever had."

"Really?" James looked at her. His eyes were daring. Daring her? "I, uh, I don't mean to brag, but I have a feeling that my kissing might be better."

Lily's heart raced.

"Oh, bring it," she said, and he did.

 


	10. Equilibrium

Lily hears him before she sees him, because when a person has a penchant for becoming invisible in order to cause trouble, you learn to recognise the sound of their footsteps. Sure enough, as the footsteps grow louder, James appears around the corner, windswept in his Quidditch robes. His muddy Quidditch robes, Lily notices, seconds before she spies the wand held loosely in his hand, surreptitiously erasing the muddy footprints his boots are creating.

She shakes her head and turns back to Wilbur, the sweet little second-year she's been tutoring for a few weeks now. She and James have slipped unconsciously into numerous routines since they started going out, one being Wednesday evenings: James has Quidditch practice while she tutors Wilbur, and then comes up to the library as soon as he finishes so they can walk back to the common room together. His appearance now either means that he finished early or she's running over, and she has a feeling it's the latter, but Wilbur's doing so well, and the look on his face when he gets something right warms her heart … besides, she muses wickedly, it won't do James any harm to be made to wait for once.

"Is this right?" Wilbur asks anxiously, pointing to his parchment. He's having trouble in Potions, getting into awful muddles over the methods for particular brews, and so Lily has recommended her own tactic for mastering a potion: writing out the method from memory over and over, checking it each time, until it becomes second nature. The one Wilbur has just written out, the Swelling Solution, is one she still remembers so well that she doesn't need to check it against the book.

"That's perfect," she enthuses, and Wilbur glows. "Keep doing that and you'll be top of the class. In fact," she adds, leaning in conspiratorially, "Professor Slughorn told me just the other day that he thinks you have real potential."

"Really?" asks Wilbur disbelievingly.

"Really."

He looks astonished for a moment, and then flushes scarlet. "That's only because – because you're helping me," he mumbles, ducking his head. "He's always talking about you …"

"Careful, there," says James, and both Wilbur and Lily jump, the latter feeling a spike of guilt about forgetting him – which is promptly dissipated by his next words. "Her head's big enough already."

"Hark who's talking," Lily remarks. She glances at her watch, and oh bugger, it's a few minutes past Wilbur's curfew. She's definitely run over.

"Oh no," Wilbur says agitatedly when Lily points out the time. "Filch is going to catch me and that'll be the third time this month –"

His eyes widen as he realises who he's talking to.

"It's OK," says Lily, unable to hold back a laugh at the horror on his face. "It's my fault, I'll write you a note."

As she reaches for a quill, she feels James move to lean against the back of her chair. "So what were you doing those two other times?" he asks Wilbur interestedly. Glancing up, she sees Wilbur's mouth fall open as he is addressed by James Potter, Head Boy and Quidditch star; he was nervous about being tutored by the Head Girl at first, but she knows her name and presence are far less intimidating than James'.

"Come on, you can tell me," James coaxes, as Wilbur stammers, turning scarlet once more. Lily, signing the note with a flourish, gives her boyfriend a sharp look.

"Leave him be, you prat. Come on, Madam Pince will be along to close the library soon."

Wilbur thanks Lily hurriedly and dashes away, clutching the note as if it might vanish at any moment.

"Sweet kid," James remarks. "Not like that snotty little fourth-year – what's his name – the one you tutor on Mondays?"

"Elliot? He's not that bad," says Lily distractedly as she gathers her things together.

"Has he once thanked you for helping him?"

"Well … no," Lily concedes reluctantly, "but he's just embarrassed about needing help. So he tries to be tough, to hide it …"

"You should tutor someone else instead," James tells her.

"Why? Do you have someone in mind?"

"Me," says James.

Lily is piling books into her arms as he speaks; his reply is so surprising that she automatically loosens her hold, and books start to cascade out of her arms, hitting the floor with dull thuds.

"I've got them!" James reassures her, quickly stooping to sweep the books into his arms with one smooth movement, as Lily stares at him. Laughter bubbles in her throat.

"Why would I tutor you?"

"Oh, lovely," says James in tones of mock-hurt as he straightens up. Lily reaches for the books, but he holds them tightly to his chest. "I always thought you helped anyone who needed it. Good to know I rate so highly in your –"

"Shut up," Lily scowls. "You know what I mean. You're a genius, for crying out loud. You're top of the class in basically everything!" She checks her watch as she speaks, realising the time, and gestures that they should leave. James falls easily into step with her, as he always does, but this is apparently not the end of their insane discussion.

"I don't need tutoring, no," he agrees. "I want tutoring. I want to learn physics."

"Physics? You want to learn physics?" Lily shakes her head in utter disbelief; she knew James Potter was unusual, but this is just ridiculous.

"You're thinking that I'm ridiculous, aren't you?" James demands. "Why?"

Lily counts off on her fingers.

"You're Head Boy."

"I am."

"You have Quidditch practice three times a week."

"This is true."

"You're taking more NEWTs than most people."

"Excellent observation skills."

"You have – particular duties once a month."

"Nicely phrased."

"… and you want to take on extra learning?"

James looks at her as if she's crazy. "Yes," he says. "I get bored."

"Oh, thanks," says Lily, feigning offence. James gives her one of his crinkly-eyed smiles, not looking as if he buys it for a second.

"I have to keep my mind stimulated," he says. "Otherwise I might cause trouble."

"More," Lily corrects. "You might cause trouble more."

"I don't think that's grammatically correct."

"Yeah, well, you're not grammatically correct."

James gasps. "Rescind that outrageous statement at once!"

"No," says Lily promptly, "shan't. Can we agree to drop this? I have a lot of work to do tonight."

She doesn't like the look in James' eyes as he shrugs.

"All right. Doesn't matter. I'll find another hobby." His gaze lands upon a broom cupboard set into the wall of the corridor. "Hey, what about …"

"If you start referring to that as a hobby I really am going to have to take drastic action," says Lily, drawing her wand.

To her surprise, James does drop the topic of her tutoring him. He doesn't mention it at all, not a single word, and in hindsight, that really should have made her realise that something was up.

The letter arrives at breakfast two weeks after their discussion in the library. Lily doesn't notice anything afoot at first, because James often receives letters from his parents, but when she leans across him to reach for the milk jug, the letter in his hands is thrust into her line of sight. The first thing she notices is that it's on paper, not parchment; the second thing, which makes her very nearly drop the milk, is that it's written in a hand that looks remarkably like her father's.

"James," she begins warily, setting the milk jug down carefully, "who's that letter from?"

"Nosy," says James without missing a beat.

"I don't care. Who's it from?"

James looks at her. A grin spreads across his face, one of those unnerving ones that just screams trouble. "Your dad. Why do you ask?"

Lily takes a deep breath.

"Why is my dad writing to you?"

"Oh we're great pals," says James cheerfully. "Cracking bloke, really. All sorts of stories up his sleeve. I didn't know, for example, that when you were younger you liked to run around in just your pants and pretend you were a dinosaur –"

He's making no effort to keep his voice down, and amused faces are turning in Lily's direction. She covers her face with her hands and tries very hard to pretend that it isn't happening: it does seem like some kind of bizarre dream. She hopes it is.

"- how long ago was this, exactly? Is there photographic evidence?" Lily feels James' hands clasp around hers, pulling them away from her face. "What's the matter, Evans?"

"You're horrible," she moans. "What have I ever done to you? And why is my dad writing to you?"

"I can't answer the first question because there are children around," says James seriously. "And he's writing to me because I wrote to him: he's a fine gentleman, he observes general etiquette."

"What did you write to him about?!" All kinds of possibilities are flying about in her mind.

James reaches for his tea and sips serenely.

"Physics." The obviously is unspoken, but it's there.

"But –" Lily shakes her head, trying unsuccessfully to clear it. She's still not convinced this isn't all a very strange dream. "Why …"

"Because your dad teaches physics," says James, very slowly. "And since you wouldn't tutor me – I thought I might have more luck with a nicer Evans."

Lily ignores the teasing barb. "But how did you know he teaches physics?"

"You told me. Fifth year. October, I think."

"You remember that?" She feels strangely touched: he's got an excellent memory, she knows that, but still … to remember that detail pertaining to her life …

"Of course I do," says James breezily. "And it's served me well. He's been very helpful." He brandishes the letter, and Lily looks at it, then back at her boyfriend.

"You know … maybe I could help a bit, too," she offers. "I don't know as much as Dad does, but I can explain about some things. Electricity, for example."

James' eyes glint behind his glasses.

"That would be spectacular," he pronounces, and there's that crinkly-eyed smile again. "I could teach you something in return, so it's a fair trade? Peut-être le langage d'amour?"

There's something about the way he says it that sends Lily's pulse sky-rocketing, even though she has little idea what it means. "Deal. I know where we can do it, too. You know that broom cupboard you saw the other week …"


	11. Life and Soul

( _For Jily Week day 4: birthdays)_

The moment Lily sees the cat slink into Harry's room, she knows she's fighting a losing battle. Getting Harry down for the night is a challenge as it is, but he will always, without fail, refuse to settle whenever the cat is around.

Right on cue, he flings himself against the bars of his cot and cries, " _Tat!"_

"Cat is going to bed now," Lily tells him, unwavering. "Because it's bedtime, isn't it? Bedtime for Harry and cat."

Harry ignores her, flailing chubby fists in the cat's direction. " _TAT!"_

The cat blinks at him slowly, then turns and stalks out of the room.

"Gone?" Harry looks gobsmacked, and then the bottom lip trembles, small face crumpling, and Lily hastily cradles him to her, stroking his soft black hair, before the wails can really escalate. "Mummum," he says tearfully into her shoulder, a sound that still pierces Lily's heart, even though he's been saying it for over a month now. She stays still, her arms wrapped around him, and after a few minutes his snuffles stop. She peers down at him. He's fast asleep.

"It's the funniest thing," she says to James when she comes back into the living room, having settled Harry back in his cot. "One minute he's distraught over the cat leaving and next thing you know he's out like a light."

"Useful trick, that," James grins. He's stretched out on the sofa, scribbling away at something; as Lily perches herself on the sofa arm, watching him, he pushes his glasses up his nose and reads what he's written. Lily wonders if it's something for the Order; she hopes so, because he's been feeling out of the loop, stuck in the cottage, and it would be good for him to have something to do, to feel useful.

"What's that?" she asks, when he continues to write, making his usual quick, deft strokes with the quill. She misses watching him in class, or in the common room, because the way he writes makes her stomach twist a little, even now – it's something about the way he holds the quill, his long, nimble fingers resting above the nib. Or perhaps it's because she likes those particular fingers so much anyway …

"Plans," he says, and beckons her over so she can see. She curls up next to him, entangling her legs with his. "For Harry's birthday. I've left it a bit late, really, two weeks isn't long to put together a party –"

"Are we  _having_ a party? I thought since we're in hiding –"

"We can still have visitors," James says at once. He's using his stubborn tone, the one that says  _I've made my mind up about this._ "It's his first birthday, he's got to have a  _party."_

Lily realises she has to tread carefully here. "He won't remember it, though," she says tentatively.

James shrugs. "Who cares? We'll remember it. And he'll see the photographs. It's his  _first birthday,_ Lily!" he repeats, the fingers of his free hand drumming on her knee for emphasis. "It's got to be  _big_. I mean, I know it can't be as big as  _my_ first birthday – there was a dragon there, you know –"

"I don't believe that for a second. A real life dragon? Are you sure you don't mean that stuffed dragon that's under our bed right now?"

"Hey.  _Hey._ Leave Geoff out of this. He doesn't need your negativity."

Lily smiles, but it's not enough to settle the unease she feels in the pit of her stomach. She can't help but feel that James is going to be sorely disappointed, because the fact is that Harry was born into very different circumstances than James was, and although it's really the least of their worries right now, she needs to know that  _James_ knows it doesn't matter whether or not Harry has a big shindig with hundreds of presents. Of course, it's all he knew growing up, but it didn't help him, and she isn't going to have their son becoming spoilt.

"I just think you might be reaching a bit high here," she says gently. "It's not really – we're not in the best circumstances to have a big party, are we?"

"We've got plenty of money."

"You know that's not what I mean."

James shrugs again, but his jaw is set, and for the second time that night, Lily feels like she's fighting a battle she just can't win.

Funny how that's becoming a recurring theme in her life.

"All right." She puts her hand on James', wanting to let him know she's not angry, not really, and gives a shrug of her own. "If it'll make you happy … go for it."

"It'll make us  _all_ happy," James insists, but when Lily makes to pull her hand away, he holds on, squeezing lightly.

* * *

It's like Quidditch season all over again. James' corner of the dormitory would always be overflowing with charts, diagrams, schedules, scruffy, but still beautiful in their precision. Now he throws himself into planning Harry's birthday with the same dogged resolve: when he's not playing with Harry himself, he's working on the plans, coming up with a whole theme, drawing a careful and remarkably detailed picture of the cake, marking out a guest list. And while Lily is delighted that he's got something to put his heart into, she still has that sense of unease that it cannot possibly go to plan – because really, what has, lately?  
When Dumbledore visits, just three days before the 31st, the sinking feeling, the trepidation, is still present. James shows him into the living room as she's about to put Harry to bed, though the room is a mess, scattered with Harry's toys and every surface covered by James' birthday plans.

"What is all this?" Dumbledore asks pleasantly after he's greeted Harry by pulling a silly face that's received with delighted gurgling giggles. He stoops slightly to inspect the notes, and a brief frown creases his brow.

"It's Harry's birthday on Friday," James says, beaming. "Isn't that right, little man? Anyway, we're having a party for him. Big milestone, you know. First year."

"Absolutely," Dumbledore agrees, but the frown is still there, faint, but Lily doesn't think she's imagining it. "A party … with guests, I presume?"

"Well, that's usually the case."

No, she's not imagining it: Dumbledore definitely looks apprehensive. "How many guests, might I ask?" he inquires politely, and James shows him the list. Now the frown is more pronounced as the bright blue eyes dart up and down the parchment, deepening by the second.

"Is something wrong?" James asks tersely, and with that, Lily realises that he's known all along there might be trouble. He knows he's taking a risk, and he knows he could very well be shut down.

She feels a sharp pang of sympathy and affection for her husband. It doesn't matter that she thinks he's making a mistake: they're on the same side here.

"I would … strongly advise against inviting so many people to your home at once time," Dumbledore says slowly. "I feel it would be a risk, and perhaps one not worth taking. We cannot be sure, exactly, of whom we can and cannot trust –"

"I know who I trust," James replies staunchly.

 _Everyone_ , Lily thinks. As if he can read her thoughts, Harry twists in her arms and grins conspiratorially at her.

"James." Dumbledore's expression is mild, but there's a firm note to his voice. "You would be endangering yourself and your family by such a large number of visitors.  _It is not wise._ I am no longer your headmaster, and I cannot command you to do as I say, but I hope you will see the logic of what I  _do_ say."

There's a long, tense silence. James' jaw is clenched, his lips pressed tightly together, as he resolutely holds Dumbledore's gaze. Neither, Lily knows, will budge.

She's the first to break the silence, saying awkwardly, "I'm going to put Harry to bed."

She lingers longer in Harry's room than she might have otherwise, reading him a story that's longer than usual, staying to watch him sleep after he's dropped off. His breath is slow and even, his little hand curled on his chest, the other stretched above his head. And as she watches him, she's hit by one of those strange moments, those waves of realisation of things already known, but that sometimes don't feel quite real when life is moving so quickly: now, it's  _this is my son, my son who is about to turn one._  
A year ago, he was still a bump in her tummy and she had no idea what she and James were about to embark upon, or how much they would love the little baby that hadn't even been born yet.

She sighs, brushes Harry's forehead with her fingertips, and leaves.

The living room is empty when she returns to it. She finds James in the unlit kitchen, staring off into space: it's unnerving, but he looks up when she lights the lamps, and his expression is doleful rather than cold.

"Has Dumbledore gone?"

A nod.

"So …"

James twists a scrap of parchment between his fingers. "So we're not having a party, it seems."

"It's OK," Lily says, desperately wanting to believe it. "It's fine. We can invite Sirius, all right? That's the only guest Harry will care about anyway. Sirius will come round and we'll still have a party, just on a smaller scale." She grabs James' hand, crouching down to meet his eyeline. "Harry will love it, I promise you."

"Yeah, I suppose," James says, his voice strained with the effort of trying to sound positive. "It just would've been nice, you know? With being here …"

"It would, but Harry doesn't  _need_ all that. I never had any big parties."

"You had your sister, though. And friends from school." He gestures wildly at their surroundings, at the walls that seem to be getting smaller each day, and Lily knows what's bothering him: what's  _always_ bothering him. "I spent my whole childhood wishing I had company. I don't want Harry growing up with just his parents for company, all right? It's not – he shouldn't have that."

In lieu of words, Lily merely nods, gripping his hand.

"But – fine. We can still have a good time, you're right. We'll invite Sirius, and it'll be great."

"That's the spirit. C'mon, since when do Potters give up?"

" _We_ don't," James says, smiling at her, and she smiles back.

* * *

Of course, it's not to be.

Sirius is regretful when he tells them he's going to be away for the Order, that it's all set in stone and he can't back out now, and Lily knows he truly wishes he could be there for his godson – and for his best friend, his brother – but he made a commitment to the Order, now missing Lily, James, Alice and Frank, not to mention all those they've lost.  
James is first up on the 31st, bringing Harry into the bedroom so that Lily wakes to her two boys to cuddle, and the birthday boy receives his presents with pure ecstasy. Sirius' gift is a hit, no two ways about it, and while James is joyfully guiding his son as he zooms around the house, Lily has the idea of inviting Bathilda from down the lane, so that Harry won't  _just_ have his parents there.

They tuck Harry into bed together that night. The excitement of the day has him out for the count before they've even put the lights out, worn out from his first hours as a future Quidditch champion.

"Thanks," James says as they close the nursery door. Before Lily can ask, he kisses her, and it's a good few minutes until she gets another opportunity.

"For what?" she gasps, breathless.

"I don't know really," James grins. "For going along with me at first. For not saying  _I told you so_ when it went wrong." The trademark shrug. "For being you."

"It was a nice day," Lily says, feeling herself blush, even though it's her husband, for pity's sake. "I think Harry enjoyed himself."

"Just you wait until next year," James tells her. "I really am going all out on that one. You'll see."

 


	12. Fairy Tales

"These," says James stubbornly, "are not fairy lights." He prods at a coloured bulb, squinting suspiciously, then turns back to face Lily. "I don't know what to tell you, Evans – you were ripped off."

"Sit down, you ninny," Lily orders. "You'll electrocute yourself if you're not careful."

James shoots the string of lights a mistrusting glance as he scurries over to the bed, where Lily is sitting cross-legged. He folds his long legs under him and manages to sit still for approximately a minute before he's up again, shooting off the bed and peering around the room with interest.

Lily watches, amused: James Potter in her pink, fairy-strewn bedroom is a sight to behold. He's so tall his head brushes against her lampshade, but he couldn't look less intimidating, in his mismatching socks and too-short jeans. That, coupled with the way he darts from corner to corner, picking up things that catch his eye and peeking curiously into drawers and cupboards ("I'm not trying to find your underwear drawer, I promise! … Where is it?") floods her with affection for him.

"You know, my parents won't be back til four," she tells him as he inspects the photographs on her windowsill. "We've spent the last three months wishing we had somewhere we could be alone …"

James pulls a face. "You bring to me a room that is filled souvenirs from your childhood and expect me to join you in unspeakable deeds? Why, Evans, I thought you knew me."

Lily reaches for a book.

She's dragged from its pages some minutes later by an exclamation, and looks up to see that James has somehow disappeared. Frowning, she sits up and peers at the floor. James' legs are sticking out from under the bed; seconds later, he resurfaces, waving a battered old notebook and looking wildly triumphant.

"Oh no," Lily says, dread pooling in her stomach, because  _that_ expression is never good. "What have you found?" She takes a closer look at the book in his hand, and wonders if it's possible to go red and white at the same time.  _Why_ didn't she hide that? Why didn't she burn it, or bury it –  _why did she leave it under her bed?_

James' eyes are gleaming. "I didn't know I was going out with an  _author!_ " he cries delightedly, flipping through the pages. "Evans, you secretive rogue! You might have told me – I would have asked for your autograph …"

"Put the book down, Potter," Lily warns, "and step away."

"I've got it memorised," says James at once.

"You haven't!"

James snaps the book shut, closes his eyes and recites, " _Poppy waved her wand. Flowers appeared all around her. 'The magic fairy was telling the truth!' said Poppy. 'I can do magic too!'"_

Lily flops backwards on to the bed with a groan, covering her face with her hands: she can feel herself turning scarlet, and she knows James is smirking. The bed dips as he sits down next to her: his hands pull her arms away, tugging her upwards.

"Go on," Lily says reluctantly. "Mock me. I suppose it's too much to ask you not to tell Sirius –"

"I actually think it's very enlightened," says James pretentiously, quirking an eyebrow. Lily elbows him. "No, really! Prophetic, some might say. I mean, look –  _Poppy_ could do magic, couldn't she?"

He puts an arm around her and Lily unresistingly sinks into his side. "You're just saying that because you're my boyfriend and you have to be nice to me," she tells him.

"What nonsense," says James. "I'm hardly ever nice to you. Just ten minutes ago I was ridiculing your school photo."

"That was much less embarrassing."

James rolls his eyes; he takes her hand in his, twisting their fingers together, entwining them. "Remind me to show you the stories  _I_ used to write, when you come round to mine. They are – well, actually, they're quite marvellous, really spectacular for one so young, but they  _are_ illustrated. A lot of dragons and lions and almost every story features fearless James Potter conquering insurmountable odds to become the hero once again …."

Lily snorts. "You didn't even come up with a different name for yourself?"

"Why should I?" James shrugs. "I knew it to be true."

Impulsively, Lily kisses him. "I can't wait to read them," she tells him happily when she pulls away. He kisses her forehead, looking pleased.

"You will have to wear gloves," he says after a moment of comfortable silence. "When handling the stories, I mean. They're going to be worth millions one day."


	13. Normality, with Espionage

"Him, over there."

"With the excellent neck beard?"

"Yeah. Don't you reckon?"

James tilted his head, considering the question seriously.

"You could be right," he said eventually. "But the beard - it's almost too obvious a disguise ..."

"Oh, the beard isn't a disguise," said Lily with great confidence. "It's perfectly real."

"I'd ask how you can tell, but I'd rather not be reminded of your obsession with facial hair." James ran a hand over his jaw, only slightly stubbly. "All right, if it isn't his beard, what makes you think he's a spy?"

He lowered his voice, though the café was fairly crowded, and it would be difficult for anyone to overhear him.

"His newspaper is upside down," Lily pointed out. She stirred her coffee idly, lips pressed together in thought, then said, "I'm not sure he's spying on us, though. See that couple in the corner? He keeps looking at them. I bet that was his girlfriend, and now she's with someone else. Her loss, though. That other bloke doesn't look capable of growing so fine a neck beard."

James had to agree with her. "It's a classic case," he said. "Spurned lover spies on cruel-hearted beloved and her new bare-faced beau."

Lily laughed. "Would you do the same, if I went off with some Trevor?"

"Oh, I expect so. I'm already well-practiced in the art of espionage, after all." He reached up to tug on a lock of his hair, transfigured a light shade of brown and forced into submission by a merciless Lily, who had hidden her distinctive hair beneath a hat. Despite Dumbledore's warnings, he reckoned they didn't need much of a disguise for what was nothing more than a coffee in a Muggle café, unless any of the Death Eaters preferred to read the Sunday papers in Muggle company with a freshly-baked scone. He very much hoped they didn't, because he really would have to get annoyed if one of his rare snatches of normality with Lily was interrupted by murderous cloaked men armed with baked goods.

"You look weird," said Lily frankly. "Your hair just doesn't look  _right_  like that."

"You once whinged about me messing it up –!"

"And you whinge about me wandering around the flat in a towel," Lily shrugged.

"That's because it distracts me," said James, and indeed he was so distracted just by the mention of this particular habit that he struggled to get his next words out: "it doesn't mean I want you to stop."

Lily's spoon swivelled around to point at him. A wicked little smile was curving her lips. " _Exactly_."

It was very difficult, James found just then, not to vault across the table and snog her senseless right there. Once he had locked his feet around the legs of his chair to stop himself from doing this, he could only manage a very eloquent "oh."

"You've got a funny look on your face," Lily remarked. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I'd very much like to snog you senseless right now," said James. Lily's eyebrows shot up until they were hidden by the brim of her hat.

"I think people might complain," she said, sounding reluctant. "The scandalous, unscrupulous youth of today …"

"Unscrupulous? We could be married," James countered.

"We could. But we're not."

James looked at her, the girl he knew he wanted to be with forever, and wondered why.

He thought he would say this out loud.

"We already live together, we're in a war – a lot of people marry young in war –"

"Less of the sweet-talk, this is serious," said Lily. James snorted.

"All right, how's this? I want to marry you, I don't know why I haven't asked you before, but then you haven't asked me either …"

"Chicken. It's  _your_ job."

"Who's sweet-talking now?"

They stared each other down, half-glowering, half-laughing.

"I don't think it's silly to wait," Lily mused eventually, hiccupping back into seriousness. "Not necessarily. But then – there doesn't seem any reason  _not_ to, either."

"It's a good thing it's not your job to propose," said James. "That must be the least romantic proposal in the history of time."

"In Roman times, people used to propose by sticking a sword in their lover's foot," Lily informed him.

"Is that true?"

"Probably not," said Lily.

James laughed. "I'm trying to propose here, Evans! You're throwing me off."

"You can't use my surname when you're proposing to me, that's outrageous. You have to use my first name."

"I've forgotten it."

"You're such a prat," Lily gasped through giggles. "I can't believe I'm going to marry you."

She reached across the table and took James' hands in her own. He squeezed her fingers gently, dipping his head to kiss them: when he looked up, he found her watching him, green eyes shining.

"I haven't even asked you yet," he realised aloud.

"I know." Lily's thumb brushed along the back of his hand, tracing a scar from some accident a month before: she was grinning at him, but her tone was serious. "And I haven't said yes. I just said I'm going to marry you."

"Well, that's fortunate, because I'm going to marry  _you_."

It wasn't quite snogging each other senseless, but James still found himself giddy from the kiss they shared across the table, hands still entwined –

"Careful," Lily murmured breathlessly against his lips. "We'll make Neck Beard jealous."

 


	14. The Right Note

_For Jily Week: 'notes or letters'_

* * *

 

1972

The only reason James aims most of his parchment missiles at Lily Evans is because her head is so distinctive, with that all that dark red hair, that it makes a perfect target.  
It's certainly not because, as her friends claim, he  _fancies_ her.

In fact, that just goes to show how stupid girls are, because James would not waste his time on fancying girls, not when he could be doing much more fun things, like Quidditch and exploring …

… and perfecting his aim.

History of Magic is the perfect place for this: nobody pays any attention, not even Remus, who seems to feel that schoolwork is important. Professor Binns might as well not be there for all the notice he takes of what his class is doing, and while the girls are playing Consequences (and giggling inanely), James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are using the hour productively.

"Stop it!"

Pink in the face, Mary Macdonald spins around in her chair to scowl at Sirius, whose projectile has just hit her on the ear. As soon as she's facing the front again, he launches another.

This time Evans turns.

"Would you  _stop it?"_

James, parchment ball in hand - Remus and Peter are assembling them as fast as Sirius and James can throw them - scowls. He had just been about to take aim for her head, and now she's thrown him off.

"That one wasn't even at you," Sirius protests.

"I don't care! Stop throwing them at  _us_! You're interrupting our work."

"You're playing a game!"

"And you're interrupting it."

She turns her back on them, tossing her head so that her mass of hair slaps James across the face. Outraged, he snatches at one of the parchment balls, smooths it out and scrawls a message before crumpling it up again and launching it. His aim is perfect – no wonder he got on the Gryffindor team this year – and Evans lets out a yelp as it  _thuds,_ hitting her squarely in the back of the head.

James leans forwards, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Open it."

Her eyes are narrowed, and he shifts, putting a little more distance between them. "What?"

"Open it." He points at the parchment, nestled in the space between Evans and her chair. "It's a special message for you."

Her friends are paying attention now, as are his, all eyes on the note that Evans unfolds. James is on the edge of his seat; he can already feel laughter bubbling in his stomach. Sometimes his hilarity is a burden, it really is.

"' _You smell',"_ Evans reads aloud, her voice flat.  __  
  
James, Sirius, Remus and Peter roar with laughter: Evans colours, and her friends shake their heads in collective indignation.

"I thought you ought to know," James says, gasping for breath.

"But I already know you smell," Evans retorts immediately. "I don't need a stupid note to tell me that."

It's a pretty good comeback, and for once James is at a loss for what to say. He exchanges looks with Sirius, who seems equally taken aback.

And then:

"It – it's obviously about you, Evans, everyone knows you smell 'cause - you hang around with Snivellus all the time."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Peter goes red: but it's done the trick. Evans harrumphs, and swings back around, her hair smacking James even harder this time. It's at that moment that the bell rings, and as the relieved class clatters to their feet – James and Sirius still clapping Peter on the back for such an excellent retort – the note is forgotten, swept hurriedly into Evans' bag with the rest of her things.

_1977_

"You're here, what, two months a year?" James can't hide his incredulity: as he surveys his girlfriend's bedroom, he's aware that his mouth is hanging open. "This place is a  _tip._ "

"It's not that bad!"

It is, though. Muggle clothes, most in garish colours, are heaped at the bottom of the bed, strewn across the floor – anywhere, it seems, but the wardrobe. Books have evaded the bookcase and are haphazardly stacked in teetering piles around the room. There's a cauldron in the corner that appears to have been used as a wastepaper basket.

"… yeah," James says unconvincingly. "Not that bad."

"Oi! You can't judge until I've seen  _your_ room – it's just not fair," Lily informs him. "For all I know yours is worse."

"Oh, I can promise you it's not. I don't think  _anything_ is worse than this." James gingerly picks his way through the mess and moves aside a clump of cuddly toys to sit on the bed. "Honestly, though.  _How_ is it like this when you're hardly ever here?"

Lily shrugs. "I never throw anything out."

She sticks her tongue out when James pulls a face and goes back to hunting through the bottom of her wardrobe. When she first told him she needed to look for something before dinner with her sister and fiancé – which James is actually looking forward to – he hadn't anticipated the conditions in which she'd be searching. Now, faced with this, he realises it's probably an impossible task to find  _anything_  in this room.

"What is it you're looking for?" he asks her. She's on her hands and knees, head in the wardrobe, and he has a rather nice view from here; he's never quite appreciated just how much robes  _hide_.

"My second year Potions stuff. For Marvin Fawcett."

"I can't believe you keep all your old school stuff.  _Why?_ "

"Well, I hate organising things … it just seemed easier to chuck everything into boxes at the end of each year. And, of course, in case it came in handy … which it is now!" She glances over her shoulder to shoot a triumphant look at James, who rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, if you can find it …"

"I  _will_ find it!"

"This century, I meant."

Her response is to give him a hand gesture his mother would have found shocking. Grinning, James gets to his feet and steps carefully across the carpet to join her.

"Let me help," he says, sinking onto his haunches. "This way we might actually make it to dinner."

"I don't think it would be any great tragedy if we didn't," Lily laughs, but she moves aside to make room for him. "Here, this is the box that has most of my second year things in … but there's loads of loose stuff in the bottom here, and there's a chance it's in – well, any of the other boxes, so if you look through  _that_  …"

She heaves a large, dusty cardboard box out onto the floor, and with a deep sigh, James begins to search through it. He flicks through sheaves of faded parchment filled with twelve year old Lily's handwriting, but there are no Potions essays there, and most of the box isn't even schoolwork: it's  _rubbish_. Broken quills, sweet wrappers, and crumpled, torn scraps of parchment – clearly all from the bottom of Lily's schoolbag, which she must have emptied into here at the end of each year.

"You're a pig," he says in wonder. "I … I'm going out with a pig."

Lily oinks, which makes him laugh so hard he almost falls over, and then orders, "keep searching, fella."

Obediently, James sifts through more of the box's contents. When he comes up with yet more scrap pieces of parchment and sees that they, too, are covered in handwriting – Lily's, but there are other hands too – curiosity gets the better of him. He picks one at random, straining to read the scrawled ink.

_Which is the best looking boy in our year? I think Daniel Owen_

And then, underneath that, Lily has written:

**_Do I have to pick from our year? Because Slughorn's gorgeous._ **

James snorts, but he can't help but be surprised. Were the girls really discussing boys at that age? Did they  _fancy_ boys at that age? Had any of them fancied him?

Had Lily?

It doesn't really matter, of course: they're together now, and very happy. But still, curiosity persists, and he starts to read the rest of the notes, angling his shoulders so Lily can't see. Sirius' name jumps out at him at once – infuriatingly often, but Lily doesn't seem to have been too impressed, to his relief.

He passes over one that's simply one of her friends talking about the way Sirius was leaning back in his chair, tossing it grumpily back into the box, and moves on to the next, which is far more crumpled than the others. Smoothing it out, he sees only two words, written in a hand that's oddly familiar. All it says is:

 _You smell_.

"What are you doing?"

Lily's peering over his shoulder before he can stop her.

"I got distracted," he says apologetically. "Er … I don't think your Potions stuff is in there."

"No, I think it might be under the bed actually. What's that?"

James waves the note. "Interesting stuff. But who's this one from? Who said  _you smell?_  Because as insults go, that's pretty pathetic –" He breaks off, noticing that Lily has a strange look on her face: her mouth is twitching, but she seems to be fighting to maintain impassivity.

"It is pretty pathetic," she agrees. "I thought so at the time. But then I wouldn't have expected anything better from the writer."

"Was it Snape?" James asks sympathetically. "Bit rich of him. I wonder if he's discovered what a bathroom's for yet –"

Lily shakes her head. "It wasn't. Don't you recognise the handwriting?"

"Well – yeah, a bit." James scans the note again. It's  _really_ familiar …

"James?"

"The one and only."

"It's you," Lily says.

"I know it's me. I just said, the one and – hang on a second. Are you saying  _that note was from me_?"

His first inclination is to tell Lily that's rubbish, there's no way he would say something that pathetic – but then he realises why the handwriting is so very familiar. It is his, or rather, his in an earlier form. It was him. He sent a note to his girlfriend telling her she smelled.  
How had he once thought he was  _good_ with witches?

"You threw it at me one lesson," Lily informs him. "You thought it was hilarious."

"What can I say?" James raises his hands in supplication. "Past James was a prat. I can only apologise for his behaviour. And for the utter lameness of the content." Shaking his head, he adds, "given how much of a knob I was back then, I really can't believe you didn't hex my balls off."

"That was more your forte," says Lily, grinning.

"Hexing balls off? I like to think I had a wider range than that."

"Prat." Lily kisses his cheek. "It's all right, I've forgiven you. In fact it's so very pathetic I actually feel sorry for you. So let's forget about it and go and look under my bed, OK?"

Already making her way across the floor without waiting for an answer, she doesn't notice James slipping the note into his pocket.

*  
Lily forgets about it completely after that, with the debacle that is dinner with Vernon and Petunia, and then Christmas, meeting James' parents – it's a busy time, and it's almost a relief to get back to Hogwarts, which seems much calmer in comparison, something she's never thought before.

The first lesson back after the holidays is Defence Against the Dark Arts, and as all of her friends and all of James' are taking it, they don't sit together. Even now they're supposedly mature seventh years, James and co. still sit in the back row, Sirius tilting his chair back on two legs as ever.

They're five minutes into the lesson, recapping what they did before Christmas, when something hits Lily on the back of the head.  
Her hand shoots to her neck, scrambling for whatever it was, and comes up with a very crumpled piece of parchment, scrunched into a ball. Resisting the urge to turn around and grin at James, she unravels it.

It's the same note, the one he found in her bedroom:  _You smell_ , it still says, but next to the childish handwriting, two more words have been added in newer, brighter ink, so that it now reads:

_You smell really nice._


	15. There Goes the Fear

He lies face down on the cold ground, unbearable pain piercing his side, pinning him down, paralysing him. He can feel warm blood trickling over his skin, and it's terrifying him.

He thinks he might die soon.

Hot shame washes over him; this is only the first hurdle, the first mission, and he has failed. He thinks back to his induction into the Order only a week before – how excited he was, how pleased to be doing something, and how certain he was that he would do brilliant things, save countless people … and then just an hour ago, they received word of a planned ambush on the house of a pureblood witch with a Muggle husband and children, and he sped off with the rest with adrenaline pounding in his veins, spurring him on – and Edgar Bones said to him, didn't he,  _'don't look so excited, son, there's nothing good about what you're rushing into here'_ , but James had ignored him because he knew he was a hell of a lot quicker and cleverer than most of the Death Eaters, and what chance did they stand against him and the other Order members? He'd run into that house without a glance backwards, throwing Death Eaters aside with the most powerful of his curses, and grabbed one of the screaming children and they'd got out – they'd got out of the house, and he had been about to Apparate when –

Oh, pain had ripped through him, pain so intense he thought he would die there and then, and he'd fallen, and the child, the girl – a different kind of pain hits him now, because he doesn't know what happened to her, doesn't know if she lives or has died – died like he might, any moment now – he can barely breathe now, what he can still manage coming in short, sharp stabs. He reckons he must  _look_ dead – he can hear the fight going on above him, and he wants to help, and he wants to be helped, but to his allies he must look a lost cause. They are probably right.

But he's  _scared_ , he's terrified – he can't die yet! He's eighteen! He's going to marry Lily soon, she might not know it but he is – and he knows that she needs him as much as he needs her, so he can't die, he's got too much ahead of him – he was supposed to change things … he can't go down in his first battle, he didn't even get a chance to fight!

He's fighting now. Fighting the darkness that's pulling at his mind, pulling him in, daring him to submit to it, daring him to put down his arms and give up the fight … he's never wanted to win more in his life. Those petty taunts and clumsy hexes in the school corridor are a million miles away now; he would have lost every fight he picked, if he could just win this one now.

He's losing. He can't breathe. He'd cry if he could, scream and cry that it's not fair, he's better than this, surely only the weak go down so easily – but he can't. Death is coming for him, calling his name in a voice he loves …

"James!"

Hands pull at his failing body, turning him over, warm fingers touching his face – is this his mind's last fantasy? He tries to open his eyes, and there's a glimmer of blurry beauty, green eyes and tears and that stubborn, determined expression – he's never seen anyone win against that – not even death -

He never stops being afraid, but he carries with him, for the rest of his life, the knowledge that on his deathbed he had so much he wanted to carry on living for, and that fuels his fear – he nearly dies a dozen times more, and he realises that the more he loves, the more he fears, it's a constant battle.

But he won't stop fighting.


	16. An Education

_For Jily AU Week: Muggle university students AU._

* * *

 

"Fucking fuck fuck fuck."

James was vaguely aware of his roommate regarding him amusedly, but he was too frantic to care. Pulling his sweaty shirt over his head, he stumbled into the bathroom, shed the rest of his clothes and his glasses and leapt in the shower, allowing himself to stand under the hot water for only a minute. He was reaching for a towel before he'd even blinked the water from his eyes, horribly aware of how much time had passed since he'd noticed he was late.

"I thought you didn't have a lecture until three," said Sirius when James emerged from his bedroom in fresh clothes. James grimaced at Sirius' effortless cool as he lounged on the sofa of their shared study, flipping carelessly through  _Critique of Pure Reason_. He'd liked Sirius from the moment they met, even before discovering their remarkably similar backgrounds, but Christ, the bloke didn't look like he'd ever rushed anywhere in his life. Too busy lying around reflecting on the meaning of life, probably.

"It's not History," James admitted, glancing at his watch. Maximum fuck – he really had to go, but Sirius was raising his eyebrows questioningly. "I get bored just doing one thing," he clarified. "So I'm checking out other lectures. There's a Biochemistry one I really want to hear …"

Sirius whistled. "Rather you than me," he drawled. "Don't you ever sit still?"

"No," said James, grabbing his phone and keys. "Sitting still is boring, and oh, that reminds me, I invited the lads in the room down the corridor out with us tonight. Peter and Remus. I got talking to them earlier. That all right?" He was already half out of the door as he spoke. Sirius just shrugged.

"Don't see why not. Have fun gatecrashing."

The lecture had already started, as he'd known it would have done, but only a few heads turned as he slipped in at the back and located an empty seat on the right. He noted with pleasure that the seat in front was empty too, and promptly swung his legs up to rest on it.

Up at the front, the professor was outlining the module components. Nothing relevant to James at that point – although the titles did look interesting – so he pulled out his phone and checked Facebook. His ex-girlfriend was in a relationship, his newsfeed informed him, with some bloke he didn't know. Hopefully she'd find fewer problems with this new guy than she had with James. That wouldn't be a hard goal to achieve, he mused.

The person sitting next to him, whom he had taken no notice of until that point, suddenly shifted in their seat. James glanced sideways and was at once struck by two things: firstly, that the person was glaring at him, and secondly – and most importantly – that it was in fact a girl. A very fit girl. Even in the dimly lit lecture theatre, he could see that she had unusually bright green eyes.

"Can I help you?" he enquired in a low voice. Fit Girl narrowed her incredible eyes.

"You could probably help yourself," she hissed. "You're paying hideous amounts for the privilege of being here, the least you could do is pay  _attention_  –"

"You're not paying attention," James pointed out.

"I was until you distracted me," Fit Girl grouched. "Are you really so arrogant that you think you can just  _breeze_ through a degree without putting in the slightest bit of effort?"

James blinked, taken aback by the sudden attack – from someone he didn't even know, and, more to the point, someone who didn't even know  _him!_ "Woah," he whispered eventually, "I think you're being a bit harsh, don't you? You don't know the slightest thing about me –"

"I know your type," shot Fit Girl, folding her arms across her –  _ooh, impressive_ – chest. "Another effing posh boy coasting along on his family's money, just here for the  _fun_ of it – but I didn't expect to find someone like you on  _this_ course. You see, this is for people with  _brains_."

"Actually," said James, "I'm doing History. I'm just in this lecture because it sounded interesting. You know, making assumptions like that isn't generally a trait of someone –" he imitated her contemptuous tone – "with  _brains_."

She flushed, but still did not back down; James admired that. "It's really not fair of you to just barge into a lecture and distract others –"

"I didn't. You distracted me with that vicious glare of yours, Medusa." Unable to resist, he added, "that's a mythological reference, by the way."

If he squinted, he was sure he'd be able to see steam coming from beneath her thick dark red hair. He didn't care – he was having fun. It had definitely been worth coming to this lecture, even if he would have to look at the slides online later to find out what had actually been said: by this point, neither he nor Fit Girl were paying any attention to the lecturer.

"You are such an  _arrogant toerag_ ," Fit Girl hissed. James snorted.

"Toerag? What century are you from?"

"You ought to know that if you're doing History," was her retort, and he had to admit, it was a good one. Damn it, he  _liked_  this girl. She really was ridiculously attractive, and fiery to boot – and she wasn't afraid to call him out, even if she  _was_  hideously misguided in doing so.

"There are a lot of things I don't know," he yawned, crossing and re-crossing his ankles on the back of the seat in front. "Like your name, for example."

"I don't intend on seeing you again after this lecture is over," she informed him tartly. "Why would you need my name?"

He smirked. "I can't very well just call you 'Fit Girl' when I'm telling this delightful anecdote to my friends, now, can I?"

She gaped. Then she shook her head, and – unless James was imagining it –  _snorted_.

"You are such a knobhead," she gasped, but she was definitely smiling, or something like it. "Are you seriously chatting me up?"

"I wasn't trying very hard," James explained. "All that anger stunted my game a bit."

"How awful for you," she said.

"I'll get over it. Come on, tell me your name … I need to know what to write in my diary."

She pressed her thumb and forefinger against her eyes in a gesture of exasperation. "You are unbelievable," she sighed.

"No, I'm James," he grinned. "You do like making assumptions, don't you? Although my parents  _did_ consider calling me Unbelievably – to go with my middle name -"

"Big-Headed?" Fit Girl interrupted.

"There you go again! Handsome, actually – they thought it fitting." He gestured at himself. "Exhibit A."

Fit Girl's face was a picture.

"If I tell you my name," she began despairingly, "will you stop talking?"

"Yes," said James at once, delighted. He thought about this, and amended, "well, maybe for a minute or two."

"Not good enough," Fit Girl replied immediately. "You have to promise to shut your trap for the rest of this lecture. You're driving me up the wall."

James shrugged. "All right," he agreed. "Can I borrow some paper and a pen? If I'm confined to silence, I might as well take notes."

Fit Girl looked pleased as she handed him a couple of sheets of paper and a biro. "I didn't think you'd be so easily swayed," she told him brightly. "My name's Lily. Evans."

James gave her a thumbs up, running the name through his head.  _Lily._ It sounded good. It sounded right.

"And now … peace," Lily commented. She shot him a very mischievous look, then hoisted her legs up onto the seat in front of her.

 _Outrageous_ , James mouthed, shaking his head.

She winked and turned to face the front. Her profile was just as lovely as the rest of her, James observed happily. Smiling to himself, he rested the paper she had leant him on his legs and started scribbling. When he shoved it into Lily's line of sight a moment later, she froze.

"Oh no," he heard her mutter as she unfolded the note.

_So, Lily Evans, what are you doing after this lecture?_

**Minding my own business** _ **,**_ she scrawled back at once.  **Stop it, you pest!**

_Sooner or later you're going to run out of insults._

**I doubt it. I carry a pocket dictionary** _**and** _ **thesaurus.**

_Snap!_ James scribbled excitedly, before realising rather belatedly that she might have been joking. From the grin on her face as she read his reply, she had been.

**Well, that's made my day.**

_Meeting you has made my day,_ he returned, hoping the dim lighting would hide his red face.  _Or life, possibly._

**High expectations for the future, I see …**

_I only have one hope for the near future. It involves you casting aside your unfavourable impressions of me and joining me for a coffee after this lecture._

Lily, crumpling the note in her fist, glowered at him. "I'm not going out with you," she hissed.

James took another piece of paper and wrote, in large letters,  _JUST A COFFEE! IT'LL BE FUN_.

"What's your proof for that?"

James thought about it, then wrote,  _I have a great line in knock-knock jokes._

Lily snorted again, and opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she was about to say was drowned by the sudden sound of chatter and people getting to their feet; startled, James realised that the lecture had finished. The hour had flown by. He looked back at Lily.

"One coffee," she said, and then, as she reached for her bag, "and I expect some bloody fantastic knock-knock jokes."

"Oh, you'll get them," James promised, struggling to stop himself from beaming. "You'll be putty in my hands by the end."

"You keep thinking that," she replied sardonically, but as she got to her feet, James noticed her slip the crumpled note they had been swapping into her bag.

 


	17. Community

_For Jily October on tumblr._

* * *

 

"What's going on over there?"

"Over where?"

"Round Friars Close – Bill says he saw some right funny stuff coming from down there not long ago …"

"Ooh, that's nothing, that is. You want to talk to Vera Bailey – she were the one who called the police, she heard the screaming!"

"Screaming? What happened?"

"That lovely young couple who moved in last year – the tall lad, and his wife with that red hair –"

"Oh, the Potters! Yes, they are lovely they are, haven't seen 'em in a while –"

"You won't see 'em no more, either. Rumour floating around says they're dead."

"Dead!"

"Bill says he saw green light – and then the house started coming down –"

"But what  _happened_?"

"Haven't a clue, dear, not one."

"But they had a baby, didn't they? The dearest little thing – just like his daddy, you could see it at once –"

"Aye, haven't heard anything about him. Oh look – there's Vera now – she might know more about what happened …"

Vera didn't. She was in shock, as she told Martin-behind-the-bar, who quickly poured her a brandy. It had been such a strange night …

She'd liked Lily and James Potter from the instant she met them, a year or so ago, in the village square. They were new to the village, they'd explained, having just found a cottage in which they could raise their child, due in August. They didn't mention what they did for a living, or where they'd lived before; said nothing of why they had married so young (they couldn't have been over twenty!), though Vera suspected the baby might have had something to do with that. But she wouldn't judge them; they seemed very well suited to each other, and very happy.

For some time after that, she had only seen them infrequently – sometimes taking an early morning stroll, or picking up a paper from the newsagents. Lily Potter grew bigger and bigger as the months passed until one morning in August, when Vera bumped into James in the shop, he holding a number of baby-related purchases.

"Lily had the baby," he told Vera, sounding weary but pleased. "A boy, we've called him Harry, tiny thing, but then he was early – wasn't due to be born 'til 18th August – arrived at five to midnight on 31st July …"

His face had darkened at this point, which Vera supposed was down to worry for his premature son.

"He's doing fine, though," James continued, sounding brighter. "Doesn't cry much, but he seems to be nocturnal – I've been reading him stories. Making them up, actually, but he doesn't seem to mind."

Vera remembered his kind face, and the warmth in his eyes as he spoke about his son; he would make, she was certain, a brilliant father.

She met the Potter family quite often after Harry's birth; Lily and James liked to take him around the village in his pram, pointing out sights and sounds, smiling at each other when he laughed. They had taken him to the Christmas service at the church – Vera remembered seeing them filing into a pew at the back, Harry in a knitted red hat and jacket, wrapped up against the cold. It was lovely, she had thought, seeing such a happy family, proving you could find happiness at such a young age … and she loved seeing that little boy grow, bigger every time she saw him. Her only son had moved to New Zealand some years before, and had yet to settle down; she had no grandchildren, and just a glimpse of little Harry Potter's smiling face each week filled something of the gap in her heart.

But as the year moved along, she suspected that difficulties might have hit the Potters; family trouble, or something of the like – perhaps James was about to lose his job? She didn't know, and she didn't like to ask, but every time she saw the couple – less and less frequently as the months went by – they looked thinner, paler, shadows darkening under their eyes, until they had stopped appearing in the village at all. And then – the strangest part, apart from tonight's events – about a week ago, Vera had been passing by Friars Close, where the Potters lived, and –  _their house had disappeared_. There was just an empty patch of grass where it used to be, at the end of the row.

Vera had asked around, but no one had heard anything about them moving away – although that didn't explain why the  _house_ would vanish – and she had tried not to think of it, until tonight, when she had gone outside to put the bin out and seen a blinding flash of green light from the direction of Friars Close. Startled, she had hurried over in her slippers to investigate. As she drew nearer, she had realised that she could see the Potters house again – but no sooner had she had this realisation than she heard screams from the house, a girl's screams.

 _Surely James wouldn't hurt her,_ Vera had thought to herself fiercely, scurrying back to her house; she snatched up the phone as soon as she got in and dialled 999, her fingers trembling.  _He wouldn't – he seemed to dote on her …_

The police had seemed to take an age to come; Vera, peering through her window, was sure she had seen shadowy figures moving around the Potters' cottage long before the police arrived. Knowing now, at least, that something was being done, she decided to pop along to the pub; she felt horribly anxious, sitting there alone, waiting … she didn't want to think about what she had heard …

But the second she entered the pub, she was bombarded by questions: everyone had heard the sirens, and some others had seen that strange green light. Somehow, too, everyone knew that she had been the one to call the police; she gathered after a few minutes that Joan Smith had cornered a policeman and he had told her. But no one, it seemed, knew what exactly had happened.

"Police wouldn't say anything else," said Joan irritably. "Told me to get out of the way!"

"They were just trying to do their job," Vera reminded her quietly.

Hours passed, and no news came; people took it in turns to nip outside and check for signs of life, but nothing happened, and it grew later and later. Eventually, Martin came around from behind the bar to chivvy everyone out.

"Sorry, folks, but have you seen the time? Best be off to bed with you all … I expect we'll know more in the morning …"

Reluctantly, Vera made her way back to her cottage – but she had barely been inside a minute when there was a knock on the door.  _The police!_ she thought at once,  _come to ask me questions …_

But it wasn't the police. It was a tall, rather bland-looking man, wearing what looked like – like  _robes_.

"Mrs. Vera Bailey?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes," Vera replied, extremely confused.

"I'm very sorry about this," he said. He didn't  _sound_ sorry at all, Vera thought, and then she wondered what on earth he meant –  _was she being burgled?_ And then the man reached into his robes and took out a wooden stick, and opened his mouth –

* * *

Sometimes villagers of Godric's Hollow wondered why there had never been a house built on the patch of grass at the end of Friars Close. More often, though, they wondered about the strangely-dressed people who flocked to that patch of grass every Halloween. It felt, Vera Bailey mused one such eve, as if she ought to know something about that … if she did, she could never remember what it was.

 


	18. Hurry Up and Wait

ames leans against the battlements, staring straight ahead at the dark, still skies; he doesn't stir when Lily steps forwards to join him, and she gets the feeling that he was expecting her, a hunch confirmed when he speaks.

"I wondered when you'd show up."

"Well, here I am," says Lily. She mirrors his pose, resting her arms on the cold stone. "Long day, huh?"

"Long day."

She can tell that they're both thinking about the same thing; Dumbledore, his grave expression … the offer. Or was it a plea? Out of the corner of her eye, she can see James' lips are pressed tightly together. He's unnaturally still; she's used to him pacing madly around a room, or swinging his legs, drumming his fingers on something – he's never even still in his sleep. This James doesn't feel right, but she's discovered a lot of different versions of James over the last eight months. This is just another one, and can she really blame him? His father's illness has been affecting him for weeks now, and now he has another burden on his shoulders. At least they can share this one.

"It's real, isn't it?" he says suddenly. "It's really happening out there … all those people … it's not just reports in the newspaper. There are people dying  _right now_."

"It's hard to forget," Lily replies quietly. Every time she reads a name in the paper, she can't stop herself from imagining her own name there – just another Muggleborn, a defenceless victim. Except she isn't defenceless, is she? She recalls Dumbledore's words with a flicker of warm pride.  _We need the best._

"Right," says James heavily. "You've been dealing with this since you were eleven. And I – I'm just realising that it's actually real." He turns to face her, insecurity – an expression she once thought she'd never see on James Potter – written all over his face. "How do you stay so – cool? I'm  _terrified_  at the thought of going out there and facing all that – seeing people dead in the streets – maybe  _being_ one of those people –"

"But you're still going to do it, aren't you?" she asks, even though she knows the answer. They haven't talked about it yet, whether they'll accept Dumbledore's offer, but she knew she would before there even was an offer. And if she knows James as she thinks she does, then he's already decided too. Leap first and think second is an instinct ingrained in both of their natures.

"Of course I'm going to do it! We decided months ago that we'd do something when we left. But that was a fantasy, almost, it seemed heroic, then, and now …" He shakes his head. "Now it's just petrifying, and  _I'm_ not even a target like you – and Sirius -"

"Not a target?" she repeats in disbelief. "Not a – have you forgotten who you're going out with? A pureblood and a Muggleborn, if the Death Eaters know then your name will be right next to mine on that list."

"You sound oddly pleased about that," James comments lightly.

"Well, it's nice to have company," she jokes. "The way I see it, there's no point  _not_ fighting when you're already in the fight, whether you chose to be or not."

"How deep."

"I thought so."

James flashes her a grin, which still makes her heart flutter even now, but it's only momentary, and then he's serious again.

"It's all happening so quickly," he says pensively. "Don't you think? I raced through the last six years because they weren't moving fast enough for me, and now I want things to slow down and time's flying by. In a month, we'll have  _left_. We'll be responsible for ourselves. No rules."

"Oh, are there rules here?" Lily enquires. "Funny. I've never seen you follow one."

"Hark who's talking! I suppose there's no rule that says you mustn't turn people into toads –"

"Not," says Lily demurely, "that I am aware of."

He laughs; she's delighted to hear it. "Oh, Evans … what was I saying? You've distracted me, you wench."

"Time moving too quickly, leaving school, responsibilities …"

He pulls a face at her impersonation of his voice. "Right. Yeah. People are talking about getting jobs, all that … the future. It always seemed so far away, you know? And now it's right in front of us. It's not the future any more."

"Poetic," Lily remarks. "I actually overheard whatshisface – Stebbins – talking about eloping with Janet McKay the other day, if you can believe it."

"No! But they've only been going out – well, less time than us …"

Lily shrugs. "It's logical in a way. If you could die tomorrow, what's the point in waiting? If you reckon you'd get married anyway …" she trails off, her eyes meeting James'. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Wow, Evans, that's -"

"I didn't even say anything!" she exclaims. Her heart starts to beat faster as she feels blood rush to her face. James shakes his head, smiling.

"You didn't have to. I can read you like a book. Like a well-written thriller with a mighty plot twist and just enough romance to enthral a hopeless –"

"And a happy ending?" she interrupts, feeling suddenly reckless.

He holds her gaze. "Well, I'd hope so."

They stand in silence for a moment or two, before James breaks it, as he always does. He doesn't like silence.

"So," he says. "We're eighteen years old, we're about to dive headfirst into a rebellion against the most dangerous Dark wizard for a hundred years, and I'm fairly sure you just proposed to me." His laugh is high-pitched this time. "You see what I mean about things moving quickly?"

"I've never been one to take things slowly."

"No. Neither have I." He runs his hands through his hair, and the familiar gesture is comforting to Lily, because everything else is strange new territory right now.

"I think," she begins tentatively, "that we already made a big decision today … and maybe, for once, we shouldn't rush into anything."

"I'm not sure I know how," James says uncertainly. "Do we just … wait? And see what happens?"

"We wait," Lily confirms, "and see what happens." 

 


	19. Don't Look Away

_Focus_.  
 _Don't look down._  
Don't look at her.  


James gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the Quaffle and dodged Patel to hurl it neatly into the left-hand hoop.  
A smattering of applause, accompanied by cheerful whooping, echoed from down below in the stands. As the captain flew out from the goals to berate one of the other Chasers on his slow reaction time, James chanced a look down at where the sixth-year Gryffindor girls were huddled, barely distinguishable from one another in the thick layers that were protecting them from the biting November chill. Even from this distance, though, James could make out Lily Evans, recognisable by the dark red hair – particularly striking in the greyish light – that streamed from beneath her hat.

There was little that could draw his focus from Quidditch, but he was admittedly relieved when Reid blew the whistle and he was able to touch back down on the ground. It had been hard to keep his mind on the Quaffle when he was wondering just  _why_ all the Gryffindor girls had turned out to watch the practice on a bitterly cold November afternoon. Most of them took an interest in the Quidditch Cup, but they had never before come to a practice, and with good reason: besides the weather, practices were not particularly interesting except perhaps to an avid fan.

The girls' presence had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the team: James saw Conroy and Patel grinning as they swung their brooms over their shoulders and sauntered across the pitch to where the girls sat. Feeling irrationally bitter, it took a minute for James to realise he was still holding the Quaffle. He sloped over to the crate and made a show of fiddling with the straps: he could hear giggling behind him, which only made him more annoyed.  _He_ would have gone over to the girls if Conroy and Patel hadn't got there first: why couldn't the berks stick with the girls in their own year? They probably assumed that the girls were there to see them, when it was just as possible that they'd come to see James … they usually preferred Sirius, of course, but it wasn't  _unlikely_ , was it?

He straightened up, his fingers numb inside his gloves, and saw a heavily clad figure detaching itself from the laughing group and heading towards James. The light was fading now, but the crimson hair still stood out. Lily drew nearer, and James' palms began to sweat, his heartbeat racing: he fought to control the urge to sort out his hair. He mustn't look cool at all, packing away the equipment on his own …

He swallowed as she approached, ready to speak – though no words came to mind – but she was ahead of him.

"Hi," she said brightly, coming to a standstill. "Need a hand?"

James blinked at her.

"No, you're all right," he managed after a pause –  _was it awkward? Did she notice?_ "Thanks, though."

Lily shrugged, hands in her pockets. Her hat and scarf covered so much of her face that all James could see were her green eyes, yet somehow they were expressive enough that it hardly mattered. Something like mischief was gleaming in them now, as she said, "it isn't as altruistic an offer as it seems. I was freezing, sitting over there – I needed to stretch my legs."

"Well, I'm mightily grateful anyway," James said heartily. He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth:  _mightily?_ Hastily, he went on: "So what brings you lot here this evening? Not that it isn't nice to have spectators, but you know – even  _my_ mates don't come to practices."

Lily made an impatient noise, so small that if James wasn't listening to and watching her so attentively, he might have missed it. "It's silly really. I won't say who, but  _someone_ fancies Thaddeus Conroy and apparently its an affection that stretches to shivering in the stands during his practices."  
"A sign of true love, enduring practices," said James. "He should feel honoured."

Lily looked over at the group by the edge of the pitch: Conroy was holding court, golden hair gleaming in the stadium lights, his booming voice carrying around the stands.

"I can tell he's very humbled," she said, turning back to face James with her mouth twitching. He grinned.

"It looked like a good practice, in any case," she went on. "Very professional. Slytherin have got a new captain, haven't they? Does that much affect how you train?"

Inwardly glowing at her compliment, as indirect as it had been, James was still surprised by her interest. She came to every match, he knew that, and often participated in making the banners and flags that the Gryffindor spectators held up (last year, she'd even made badges for the whole House, Charmed to flash red and gold) – but he didn't know her enthusiasm for Quidditch stretched beyond house pride.

"Er – yeah, absolutely," he said. "Every captain's got their own strategies and angles. If you want to win, you have to prepare a personalised attack."

"The thing you were doing – when you flew upwards then dropped the Quaffle –"

"Porskoff Ploy?" James supplied, grinning again at Lily's blank face. She flashed a smile in return.

"I've no idea, but that looked clever – it distracts the opposing Chaser, yeah?"

"That's right."

"I noticed your signature move, too," she continued, and her eyes twinkled. "The James Potter reverse pass …"

James laughed. "I might as well come clean … I didn't actually invent that. I'm just incredible at it."

"Fathead," said Lily, but her tone remained amused, and there wasn't a trace of annoyance in her voice. "What's – oh, it's something to do with a hawk –"

"Hawkshead Attacking Formation?" James frowned.

"That's the one – what does that look like? Were you using it today?"

Impressed, James launched into an explanation of the move, unable to stop himself from gesturing wildly to demonstrate. That led – thanks to Lily's questions – to an account of the last match he'd seen, his Arrows versus the Harpies, which turned into his solid reasoning for why the Arrows were simply the best team in the league.

He was aware of nothing but the words spilling from his mouth and, moreover, the way Lily seemed to take in every one with intrigue and genuine interest in her eyes: the fact that he was apparently captivating her could have kept him talking for hours. He was just finishing a funny story about the referee at last year's championship final when Lily shivered. He stopped abruptly: he hadn't noticed the cold, nor the fact that – Merlin's balls, it was  _dark:_ he'd been so engrossed.

"When did the others go?" he asked, suddenly noticing the empty pitch.

"Ages ago," said Lily amusedly. "They said bye, did you not hear?"

James scratched his chin, utterly disoriented. "Er – no," he admitted. "I get sort of caught up in Quidditch … you should have stopped me, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you –"

"If I'd wanted to stop you I would have," said Lily matter-of-factly. "It was really interesting, I think I've learned more just now than I do in a week of lessons."

"You can borrow some of my books, if you like," James offered, and she smiled at him, a truly devastating smile that made his stomach flutter uncontrollably.

"That'd be great, thanks!"

Silence fell, but it wasn't uncomfortable. James was slightly reeling from the discovery that she was just as easy to talk to as Sirius: time had simply flown by, as it always did with his best friend. In truth, he'd never had a full conversation with her, not alone. What had he been missing?

"Well, I'd better head back," Lily said eventually. "I've got Charms club at eight. Are you …?"

James nodded at the crate by his feet. "I've got to put this away."

He was desperate to walk back with her, side by side, and he hoped it didn't show on his face. Lily nodded, rubbing her gloved hands together. There was an air of finality lingering around them, or so James felt; it was strange, but he had no desire for the moment to end.

"See you later, then," said Lily; with a little wave, she turned and walked away. James watched her go with a grin spreading across his face, and the second she was out of earshot, he punched the air with a resounding whoop.

 _Good practice indeed_.

 


	20. Sympathy

Silence and James never went very well together. Working in the library was a struggle for him: he  _tried_  to work, Lily knew, but he couldn't seem to help himself from bursting out with little comments and observations every so often: it was as ingrained in his character as his constant foot-tapping and fidgeting.

On a Tuesday almost-evening in February, when rain flung itself against the windows of the library and a particularly nasty Potions essay was dominating James and Lily's rare shared free period, James did not speak for almost ten minutes. Lily didn't realise this until somewhere around the nine-minute-mark, and when she did, she was deeply unsettled. She glanced at her boyfriend, who was bent over his work, and wondered if the unthinkable had finally happened: James' workload had overpowered him. Perhaps he was so overworked that he actually needed to  _concentrate_ in order to do well! Oh, the horror, thought Lily happily, returning to her own work.

_"ATCHOOOOO!"_

If the mammoth sneeze that erupted from somewhere in the vicinity of James Potter's nose hadn't angered Madam Pince, then Lily's startled shriek coupled with the  _thud_ of the book that slipped from her grasp certainly did.

"Noise in the library!" she screeched in a whisper.

"My book sneezed," James informed her.

"And then mine shrieked," Lily added helpfully. "Perhaps someone's hexed them?"

Madam Pince's eyes bulged: she snatched Lily and James' books from the table and stalked away, casting mistrustful looks over her shoulder as she went.

"Bugger, I needed that," Lily sighed. She pointed an accusatory finger at James. "Why did you have to go and sneeze, eh?"

"I didn't," said James, but the thick, nasal tone that his voice had taken on told Lily otherwise. He sniffed as he spoke, and Lily noticed that his nose had gone faintly pink.

"Have you got a cold?" she asked.

"No," he replied firmly. "I don'd ged colds. Colds are for the weak."

"Well, it's Tuesday, so it is the week," Lily grinned.

James scowled at her. "I  _don'd_ have a cold, OK?"

"OK," said Lily, humouring him. "It's almost five, d'you want to get dinner and take it up to your room?"

"It is?" James cast the rain-spattered windows a reluctant glance. "No, I can'd … I'b god Quidditch. I'll ged some food lader."

"But it's tipping it down out there!" Lily protested: she could only imagine what kind of problems an already cold-stricken James going out in the winter rain would bring. He was being stubborn about it as it was. She was willing to play along as far as his refusal to admit to a cold went, but she wasn't going to let him do something that was just  _stupid_.

"Dis is de only day dis week we can all do," James shrugged. His eyes were appealing:  _don't ask me not to go to Quidditch, please._ Lily heaved an inward sigh: she knew how much he depended on his time in the air, which had been severely limited this year with all he had to do. He liked to spend as much time as possible with  _her_ , as well, which didn't help.

"Oh, all right," she grumbled, and he gave her a lopsided grin, scraping back his chair and pecking her on the cheek. "But  _stay warm!_ "

He saluted, which was not, Lily thought with a groan, a promise.

* * *

"Oh my God," she gasped, and Remus, Peter and Sirius, who had joined her the moment she'd settled down in the common room, all followed her gaze to where James was climbing through the portrait hole after his teammates, absolutely drenched to the skin. He squelched over to their corner and sank into a chair, offering a greeting that was distinctly croaky.

"You're shivering, you  _idiot_ ," Lily chided, as Sirius reached for a thick red blanket, tossing it into James' lap. He made no move to pull it around himself, leaving Lily to do it for him: she cast several Drying Charms on his robes for extra measure. "Why on Earth didn't you get changed?"

"Too tired," he explained weakly. "Id wad a good practice."

"Have you broken your nose?" Sirius frowned.

"I think he's got a cold," said Peter.

"I hab nod," said James irritably, and then he sneezed so violently that he almost fell out of his chair. Remus' face turned beetroot as he tried to hold back laughter: his shoulders shook.

"You definitely  _hab,_ " Lily insisted, unable to resist a little mockery, "and you should go and get some Pepper-Up Potion, you great fool."

"Ahhh, such love," James sighed thickly. "Unfordunadely – unfordu –  _sadly_ , I can'd, because I'b god to finish Slughorn's es-" he broke off as a hacking cough spewed from his throat. Lily rubbed his back as he spluttered, hands over his mouth.

"Oh yeah, you're  _fine_ ," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "Who're you helping by pretending you haven't got a cold?"

"I –  _haben'd_ ," James choked out. The coughs subsided, and he turned a vicious glare on the group. "Let's just drop it, OK?"

"He's using his Head Boy voice!" Peter exclaimed, which was followed by high-pitched cries of  _"not the Head Boy voice!"_ from Remus and Sirius as the three clutched at each other, feigning terror.

James stuck two fingers up at them and pulled his half-finished essay from his bag. He clearly wasn't going to relent, Lily realised: the easiest thing was probably to let him attempt to complete the essay and then go to bed.  
That or Stun him and drag him to bed herself, she mused, but no … that was perhaps a little extreme. She plumped for her first idea and buried herself in her own work, chancing glances at James every so often. Barely any time had passed before his nose started to run: he appeared immersed in his work as an arm came up to wipe at his nose. Tutting, Lily conjured a handkerchief and pushed it into his hand. He brought it to his nose absently, then stopped dead and looked at her.

"I  _don'd_ –"

"I'll have that hanky back then," said Lily, holding out her hand. James scowled, then ground his palms into his forehead.

"I'mb going to bed," he groaned. "I'll hab to finish dis tomorrow."

Lily gave him a comforting smile. "That's all right. You'll feel better once you've got some sleep. Not that you're poorly, or anything," she amended hastily, when he shot her a look that was only vaguely threatening, given its accompanying sniffle.

He didn't appear at breakfast the next morning, and Lily had just returned to Gryffindor Tower to check on him when she ran into Sirius, Remus and Peter, who looked very relieved to see her.

"He won't get up," said Remus, "and he won't go to the hospital wing, either. He's  _definitely_ not well."

"This situation requires womanly wiles," Sirius stated, "of a kind we are lacking."

"Does this mean you have another kind of womanly wiles?" Lily wanted to know: then she shook her head, realising there was a more pressing matter at hand. "I'll do my best. Tell Slughorn he's not well and I'm taking care of him, all right?"

"You're a treasure," Sirius told her with a clap on the shoulder. "Good luck."

"Yes, he's proving … uncooperative," Remus chipped in, twiddling his wand.

"If his sheets are wet, it's not because he's weed himself," said Peter.

"No," said Sirius, "it's because we tipped cold water over him.  _What?"_ he added defensively at Lily's frown. "We thought he might have a temperature!"

"Well he'll definitely have one now," Lily huffed, " _freezing._ "

In the dormitory, James was barely visible beneath a mountain of blankets: scrunched up tissues littered the floor beside his bed. As Lily approached, she said softly, "James?" and a corner of the covers was drawn aside, revealing a pale, wan face with a very red nose.

"Lily," he croaked, "I think I'b god a cold."

"Oh no, really?" said Lily, deadpan. She perched on the edge of his bed and smoothed his hair back from his clammy forehead: he relaxed at her touch. "Could've fooled me."

"I don'd wand to go to the hosbital wing," he whispered dolefully. "Poppy's  _mean_ to me."

Lily smiled at him. "Isn't it lucky, then," she said, "you have a girlfriend who doesn't really feel like going to Potions and would  _much_ rather stay here and brew Pepper-Up Potion for you?"

"You're de besd, Ebans," he said hoarsely.

"Did you just call me  _Ebans?"_ Lily giggled.

"You – you can'd make fun of me! I'mb ill."

Lily shook her head. "You waited too long to admit it, now you have to withstand at  _least_ three hours of piss-taking. It's only fair."

Hazel eyes blinked reproachfully at her. Then, croakily:

"Do I ged a sponge bath ad leasd?"


	21. All the Right Moves

"I feel like royalty," Lily murmurs, as yet another set of eyes deflect from the badge on her chest to gawk at her face. At her side, matching her pace as they move along the corridor despite his bounding stride, James receives the same treatment: glimpse the badge, eyes widening, goggle at the face.

He grins at her, hands deep in his pockets. Utterly unfazed, of course. "I quite like it."

"Fathead," Lily admonishes teasingly, because while she might have meant it a year or two earlier, now James pokes fun at his arrogance as much as anyone else, and in doing so, makes himself far more likeable.

 _Really_ likeable, in fact.

The reluctant attraction harboured since second year has, much like its object, matured. Captivated once by his cocky charm, Lily has spent the summer falling – quite happily – for the James Potter who wrote funny, warm letters, at first light, chatty, and then – with the arrival of those shiny badges – deeper, and personal, divulging insecurities she didn't know he had.

Back at school a mere week, the combination of his presence (several inches taller, thank you, and knee-meltingly stubbly) and the personality he's now letting shine through have resulted in  _feelings_ , those ones she reads about in books hidden under the mattress – thumping heart and burning face and tingles in her chest, not to mention the kaleidoscope of butterflies that take flight every time he comes particularly close, or smiles at her in a certain way - like he's doing now,  _dear God …_

The resounding  _crash_ of a first year on the stone floor is almost a relief, drawing Lily out of her reverie and compelling her to hurry over to the small boy sprawling on the ground, James at her heels. The kid's belongings are scattered around him, and James gathers them up as Lily helps the scarlet-faced boy to his feet.

"Are you all right?" she asks kindly, laying a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "That was a nasty tumble – shoelace undone?"

The boy looks up, meeting her gaze: his eyes flicker to the Head Girl badge pinned to her front, and in a split second, his whole demeanour shifts: the flushed face hardens, his body stiffening. He jerks away from Lily, throwing her hand off his shoulder, venom spewing from his mouth: "Don'ttouch me, Mudblood!"

Lily's blood runs cold: involuntarily, tears spring to her eyes, and she blinks them away furiously. Beside her, James has frozen, too - then he steadily straightens up, looming dangerously over the boy.

"I'd say you'll regret that," he says icily. "If it were me - I would turn you into the pile of dung you are." Then, ominously: "but … I'm going to let our Head Girl here deal with you. You deserve that."

"Thanks," Lily says pleasantly, not taking her eyes off the boy. He looks defiant, and still angry, which hurts even more than – than what? She pulls out her wand and twirls it between her fingers, thinking. After a few moments, she forces a smile.

"Actually … I'm not going to do anything."

" _What?_ " James yelps. "Lily, this little bastard deserves to be punished –"

"All right – detention, then," she clarifies. "Saturday night."

"With you?" the boy demands, contemptuously, and Lily's temper flares.

"Not with me. I think I'll let Professor McGonagall take this one." She's pleased to see him pale: so he has the sense, at least, to already fear McGonagall. "What's your name?"

He gives it, scowling.

"Right. You'll receive a note with the time of your detention shortly." Lily purses her lips. "Now get out of my sight."

A self-satisfied smirk plays around his lips as he turns away – he clearly thinks he's got off lightly.  
He doesn't see Lily's wand move, quickly and silently, doesn't realise that his shoelaces have knotted themselves tightly together until he falls again, this time spectacularly, sliding several feet on his front along the corridor. The few passing students have all heard or seen his altercation with the Head Boy and Girl, and this time nobody rushes to help him.

Lily approaches, folding her arms across her chest; she stands over him as he squirms desperately on the floor, humiliated.

"You see," she says softly, "you ought to be nice to the people who  _do_ help you. Because not everyone will."

She pauses, bitter memories flooding her mind, and then adds coolly:

"I hope for your sake you're kinder to the next person who gives you a hand."

James is waiting for her at the other end of the corridor, bouncing on the balls of his feet: he greets her with something like awe in his voice.

"That was incredible," he tells her fervently. The bell rings then, signalling the end of break: he looks inquiringly at her. "Are you free? I was going to head for the study to get ahead with some work. I wouldn't mind some company, if …?"

"I'm free," Lily says simply, smiling.

He falls into step with her again as they set off towards the little study they share. "I hoped you were going to jinx him beyond the point of recognition, to be honest – but that was far better, what you did," he says. "Little shit – he'd better hope he doesn't run into me any time soon. I'll wipe that smirk off his face."

"You ought to get used to it," Lily warns him. "I know it's only been a week, but I have a feeling this is just the start of it. People aren't happy about this … about me."

"There are plenty of people who realise you were the perfect choice for the job," James argues at once. "It's only slimy, bigoted cockweasels like that –"

" _Cockweasels?_ " Lily repeats, giggling.

"You know." James looks discomfited. "Proper knobheads like Sn-"

"Yeah, I got the meaning," Lily assures him. "Cockweasel, eh? I like it. I usually go for 'arse-faced dolt' or 'odious wazzock' –"

James' delighted laughter is music to her ears.

"No – seriously," he protests weakly, as they reach the study (he holds the door open for her: she tries not to be pleased) and move inside, "you shouldn't have to put up with people like that. It's not fair – it's about as far from fair as you can get –"

Lily shrugs. "Perhaps. But there's not much I can do about it, is there?" She can feel James' eyes on her, but he says nothing; just reaches into his pocket for a paper bag, which he offers to her.

"Fizzing Whizbee?"

"Oooh, thanks."

A companionable silence falls: rain pitter-patters against the window, making the small study feel even cosier. Lily slips her shoes off and tucks her legs beneath her.

"Good idea," James comments. He casts his own shoes into the corner. Lily raises an eyebrow.

"You don't have stinky feet, do you?"

"No! Smell –"

One large foot is stretched inches from her face. Wrinkling her nose, Lily leans tentatively forward.

"Delightfully fragrant," she has to admit. "So does your dormitory not have that lovely boy-sock odour, then?"

"Not at all," says James.

"Wow. I'm impressed -"

"It's just rotting food and flatulence."

Lily snorts, then blushes.

"Did you have a good summer?" she asks quickly, to cover the hideous moment. "You didn't give any gory details in your letters."

"That implies there are gory details to give," James yawns. "Sorry to disappoint, Evans, but my summer was uneventful."

"Really," Lily says disbelievingly. "You didn't get into any shenanigans with your gang of miscreants?"

"Depends how you define shenanigans. We did a bit of exploring, I suppose … poking our noses in where they weren't welcome … the usual."

It's hard to hide the amusement this statement fills her with. "You're like the Famous Five!" she cries, pointing at him as laughter bubbles once again to the surface. "Nosing around … exploring …" A thought occurs to her, and she frowns, slightly miffed. "I suppose you didn't have a dog with you, though."

"We … were occasionally joined by a dog," says James cryptically, though he still looks bemused. "What's this … Famous Five? I haven't heard of them, they can't be that famous."

"No, no – they're book characters, from this children's series – oh, I loved them when I was younger," Lily explains enthusiastically. "They would always find adventures, these kids, and get into all kinds of trouble."

"Do you have them with you?" James asks eagerly. "Can I read them?"

Surprised, Lily says, "they're at home. I haven't read them for years. I suppose I could ask my mum to send the first few …"

James looks hopeful.

"I'll write to her tonight," Lily promises. He beams, until his eye falls on the clock, when his face promptly falls.

"Damn it, I've done bugger all." He sighs. "You're so distracting, Evans."

Lily flicks a Whizbee at him. He sends it flying straight back.

"Childish," he remonstrates. " _Not_ very Head Girlish."

To her disappointment, he settles down to work after that. She feels far too jittery to work, herself: she's on a high, happy and warm –  _she was called a Mudblood less than an hour ago!_

It's the James Potter effect, she muses, glancing at him. He's writing steadily, engrossed: his long fingers hold the quill almost elegantly, but ink is smearing onto the tips: when he pauses to push his glasses back up his nose, an inky streak marks his action, black as the thick brows furrowed over his forehead, as his hair –  _his hair looks soft, what would it feel like to run her hands through it, like he does …?_

Without warning, he looks up, too quickly for her to move her gaze.

"What?" he says self-consciously, rubbing his nose and darkening the stain there. "Do I have something on my face?"

Lily bites her lip to hide a smile. "No," she lies eventually. "It's nothing."

 


	22. Juncture

"Three minutes!"

"Have you got the Firewhiskey? Wormtail, pour it out –"

"That's too much!"

"It's not  _enough,_ Moony, what're you on about?"

"Two minutes," said Remus, checking his watch.

Sirius looked at James as he took the shot glass Peter sent floating towards him.

"Last minutes of being a child," he teased. "Do you want to do something immature, quickly? Steal Snivellus' pants, or –"

"It's weird, isn't it?" said Peter. "In a minute or so, we'll allbe adults, all four of us."

"Old and grey," sighed James.

"Some of us more than others," said Sirius, grinning wickedly at Remus.

"Oh, shut up. One minute, everyone."

The longest hand of Remus' watch ticked steadily towards the twelve.

"Ten seconds," said Peter, his tone hushed.

They all took up the count.

"Nine –"

"Eight –"

"Seven –"

"Six –"

"Five," said James, feeling momentous, "four –"

"Three!"

"Two –"

* * *

 _One,_ thought James.

 _Happy birthday to me_.

He put his watch back on the bedside table and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. He felt very strange, not because he was no longer a teenager, but rather because he hadn't felt like a teenager for a long time now.

Next to him, his wife stirred, turning on her other side to face him. "James?" she mumbled, squinting in the dark. "Where are you?"

(He always slept the same way these days, nestled closely against Lily with his arms curving around her swelling stomach.)

"I'm here," said James at once, reaching out for her. She snuggled into the crook of his arm, resting her head on his chest.

"It's midnight," he told her, inhaling the smell of her hair.

Lily lifted her head, craning her neck to look up at him.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, and kissed him, long and slow and sweet. He could feel her heart beating against his, and her bump was pressed against his side: when they broke apart, he moved a hand to gently rest upon her stomach.

"I was thinking about when I turned seventeen," he said. "We sat on the floor in the dorm, and at midnight we had a toast to being of age. We thought it was so  _old_."

Lily smiled. "Didn't you get drunk after that? I remember in the morning –"

"All right, Evans, let's not get into all that," said James quickly. "We won't be doing that this year."

"Don't let me stop you, by any means …"

"Well, we're twenty now. Old and mature." James sighed. "Anyway, it seems awful to make a big to-do of good things now, doesn't it? When other people can't." He thought of Edgar, killed a month ago – _was it a month, already?_ – with his whole family, his wife, his children, and held Lily closer.

"Yes, it does,' said Lily softly, "but we can't let that stop us."

She sat up, fixing James with that green-eyed gaze that still made his stomach flip, even now.

"With every birthday we're thinking, will we be alive to see the next one? And we  _mustn't_  do that to ourselves! We should just – just be alive for  _now_. We're going to have the others round today and you're going to be as silly as you were three years ago – and we're going to celebrate. We have something to celebrate. It's an awful waste of a life if we don't."

James meant to say 'you're right', but somehow it came out as "I love you".

"I love you too," said Lily, kissing his nose, "so much."

* * *

"Happy birthday, mate," said Sirius, as Peter and Remus cheered. "How d'you feel?"

"Old," said James, feeling his chin. "Has my beard come in yet?"

"Are you really mature now?" asked Remus with a broad grin that suggested he thought otherwise. "Can we expect to see the wise, sophisticated side you've been hiding – really well –?"

"Absolutely," James declared. "This is a new, refined chapter in my – oy, where's the booze gone? Another round, gentlemen!"


	23. The Long Haul

"… so then I said, well, you never specified what  _kind_ of diagram, Professor …"

"Come – off – it," James wheezed, his face scarlet from laughter, "you never said that!"

"I did. And I didn't get detention, either. That, my good man, is how you do it." Lily grinned delightedly, watching as James wiped a tear from his eye. These days, there were few things she took greater pleasure from than absconding to James' dormitory with food from the kitchens, where they would shut themselves behind the hangings of his four-poster and eat and talk and laugh and occasionally involve themselves in other activities.

Today - a grim Saturday - wind was howling beyond the castle windows as Lily regaled James with tales from Care of Magical Creatures while he did the crossword. Oh, how she adored the look of concentration on his face, which appeared now as he returned to the paper, rolling the nib of the quill between his fingers … and covering them with ink.

"Inky fingers," she pointed out. He didn't look up, but reached out his hand, quick as a flash, and pressed it firmly to her face, withdrawing it before she could do so much as squeal.

"You're such a –"

"Evans, please. I'm working," he murmured. "Six down, ten letters,  _manufacturer of desire_...?"

Are you asking," Lily questioned, "or thinking aloud?"

"That depends entirely on whether or not you know the answer."

"I do."

He pushed his glasses, which had slipped yet again, firmly up to the bridge of his nose. "Well then, I won't deny you the pleasure of telling me."

She tried not to smile. "It's Amortentia."

"Aaah, of course …"

He wrote the letters carefully in the boxes, making deft, precise movements. Lily watched him affectionately; the discovery of James and Sirius' long-running ("We can't remember who started it," James had said; "James started it. Competitive bastard," Sirius had told her) crossword challenge had made her fall for James Potter even more. He took it, she was coming to realise, extremely seriously; his homework would remain untouched until he completed that crossword. And it was, she mused, really incredible how all of this had been in this boy all along; the boy who kept a book of Quidditch league scores for each season, the boy who laughed too much over ridiculously bad jokes, the boy who hand-made birthday cards for his friends every single year.

"Have you ever used a love potion?" she asked him, suddenly curious to know more about him, even though she wasn't entirely sure she  _did_ want to know the answer.

"Oh, Evans, I couldn't possibly tell you that," he drawled in a deliciously low voice. "Why, I've got to have  _some_ secrets …"

"Do you?" Lily rolled over on her stomach and eyed him suspiciously. "You've got more secrets than the government, you have."

"What an outrageous accusation," he yawned, scratching his nose with his quill. "I have no secrets at all. I mean, apart from the love potion thing."

"Poppycock! You and Sirius and Remus and Peter, you're always holed up somewhere looking all secretive …"

"Poppycock?" James repeated, grinning. "Really?"

"Don't try and change the subject," she said sternly, waggling her finger at him. "You've got  _loads_ of secrets, I know you have."

He shook his head as he turned his attention back to the crossword. "Evans, I don't know what to tell you. I'm an open book."

But he wasn't, Lily thought. He  _was_ hiding something, and what could be so secret that he wouldn't even admit to concealing it? The trouble was, he was a master of this, always had been; a convincingly innocent expression, a puzzled frown …

She'd always known that he and his friends had secrets, but  _she_ was his friend now – his girlfriend! They shared small, intimate spaces and long kisses, comfortable silences and inside jokes – so why couldn't he share this with her?

She jumped as his fingers suddenly brushed the crook of her elbow; she raised her eyes and met his, concerned beneath raised eyebrows.

"All right, Evans?"

"Mmm," she replied noncommittally. "Just thinking."

"Well, don't hurt yourself. What's nine letters long and means – oh, of course …  _elemental …_ " He scribbled in the word, looking delighted with himself. "Yes! Victory for Prongs!"

 _Prongs_. Yet another thing she didn't know about him … why he had that nickname …

"I think –"

"Steady on," said James, not looking up as he scrawled  _YOU LOSE BLACK_  across the top of the paper in thick black letters.

"- I think I'm going to go to the library. I've got a lot of work to do."

At this, James put the paper aside; he held on to Lily's arm as she made to get off the bed. "Are you sure? We could do it together …"

"No, no, I should – I'll just be distracted if you're around. From the smell," she added, waving her free hand exaggeratedly in front of her nose. "It's called soap, you know."

"Soap," said James, "distracts from my natural scent of pure charisma." He let go of Lily's arm, but leaned in for a kiss. "I'll see you at dinner?"

"Oh yeah. Save me a Yorkshire pud."

* * *

The howling of the wind seemed to have amplified immeasurably, or perhaps it was just the absence of Lily's chirpy voice … James groaned, pressing his fingers hard into his temple, willing some solution to come to mind. He felt torn, there was no other word for it; torn, utterly torn, ripped apart by these two poles of massive importance in his life. He could tell that Lily was hacked off by his casual refusal to admit to having secrets, and why wouldn't she be? He  _did_ have secrets, and she knew that perfectly well … but he couldn't take the risk that he might let something slip. They weren't  _his_ secrets! What if he told Lily everything – about Remus, and being Animagi, and the Map, and all of it – and they broke up, and she used it against him, against Remus?

And yet … why  _would_ they break up? It was dawning on him that Lily could very well have shouted at him, demanded that he tell her his secrets, or else. But she hadn't. She had said 'save me a Yorkshire pud' and gone to be with her thoughts.

He would never break up with  _her_ , he knew that for sure; he would never stop being grateful for the fact that she wanted to be with him, never stop feeling so incredibly lucky that he had her in his life. There was something ineffable within him that knew he would never feel this way about anyone else, ever; he could quite imagine spending his whole life with Lily Evans, roaring with laughter at her anecdotes from work, bantering over whose walking stick was better … he trusted Sirius and Remus and Peter immeasurably, trusted them with his life, because they  _were_ his life. They knew everything about him.

And he wanted Lily to know everything about him, too. He wanted to give her his all, because damn it, he was in it for the long haul.

* * *

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Lily checked her watch again. Nearly time for dinner … God, she wanted to see James …

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

She'd barely written a paragraph, and she was fairly certain that what she had written was mostly nonsense; her mind was somewhere else entirely, back in James' dorm room with his arm around her. She couldn't quell the fear that all of this was because he didn't trust her, and how horrible a thought that was, because she trusted him completely, even though they had only been together for a month or so; there was just something about him, something that made her put her faith in him entirely.

And - and  _there he was_.

He wound his way between the tables, eyes fixed on her; it seemed to take him an age to reach her table, but when he did, he swung himself straight into the chair opposite her and spoke without preamble.

"I can't swim. At all."

"What -?" Lily started, utterly confused, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"I sleep with a toy lion. His name is Egbert. I hide him under the bed every time you come round."

His face was slowly turning pink, but he ploughed on anyway, a look of complete determination in his eyes.

"I cried when my mum read  _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_ to me. I just felt so bad for all the people who didn't get help …"

Comprehension dawned, and Lily couldn't help laughing in relief – he was telling her his secrets …

"When I was seven I went to a Muggle park and tried to join in with some kids who were playing – football, right? I was terrible, and I fell over, and they just laughed. It was devastating."

"That's horrible." Lily hesitated as her stomach gave a loud rumble. "Do you want to continue this over dinner?"

"What? Oh – yeah … we probably ought to go straight to the kitchens," said James; he looked rather disorientated, as if he had been in some kind of secret-spilling trance. "I've got a heck of a lot to tell you. I was starting small, you know."

"Kitchens it is." Lily pressed a brief kiss to his cheek, then led the way out of the library; his hand closed on hers as they walked. "They'd better still have Yorkshire puddings, though."

"Oh right, that's another one. Don't hurt me, but I don't  _actually_  like Yorkshire puddings …"


	24. Swings and Roundabouts

_For a prompt about one person attempting to impress the other and injuring themselves in the process._

* * *

 

James Potter fitted into the Evanses' home like he'd been there all his life, as if he wasn't a manor-born wizard who had no idea how to work a toaster or what Gethin Evans meant when he said he was putting the telly on to catch the football. Charming, witty and polite from the moment he stepped over the threshold, Lily was fairly certain that if he'd stayed any longer, her parents would have insisted he marry her immediately.

"I thought that went well," he said to Lily as soon as they were out of the house. "It did, didn't it?"

"Well? James, they loved you."

"Who can blame them?" said James, grinning. He glanced around: Lily had tugged him out of the house with no word of an explanation, and they stood now on the doorstep. It was a brisk, grey day - not unusual in Cokeworth - and they were both shivering in the chill. "So what's the plan, then? I thought I was staying longer. Are you sending me home?"

"Of course not," Lily said, feeling slightly guilty at the real reason for her haste to get James outside. She had gone to his house only a few days before, to meet his parents, and while the meeting itself had gone well (she hoped), she'd been staggered by the place James called home. Grand and imposing, set against acres of sprawling land, it could not have been more different from the small and rather cramped house in Cokeworth that was indistinguishable from its neighbours. Sitting in her living room, listening to James charm her parents, Lily found herself increasingly aware of the stark contrast to the high-ceilinged parlour in which she'd been served tea - by a house-elf - with the Potters. It wasn't that she thought James would be rude - he wouldn't dream of it - but rather that she didn't want him to feel sorry for her, or her parents, because of their humble surroundings.

She quashed the little voice in her head that was whispering snidely, are you sure it isn't that you'reashamed?

"We could go to the playground," she suggested brightly.

"The - what?"

"I'll show you," she smiled. "Come on, it isn't far to walk."

She remembered the way quite clearly, remembered walking there most Saturdays with Petunia ("Mummy told us to hold hands when we cross the road, Lily! Don't run ahead, Lily!"), though she hadn't actually set foot in the playground since leaving for Hogwarts six years earlier. She guessed Petunia hadn't gone near it since then, either.

It looked much the same - the swings rustier, perhaps, and the gate had been repainted, but Lily could almost see her younger self pelting across the ground to get to her favourite swing, Petunia following at a more sensible pace, clucking about falling over and grazing her knees (Lily's were scarred permanently white from her childhood; as, she'd been delighted to discover, were James').

"Well, this is the playground," she said unnecessarily. James laughed.

"I like it," he said, his eyes travelling over the worn equipment that couldn't be familiar to him. "What's that? How do you use it?"

He was pointing at the slide. Lily grinned. "That's a slide. You climb up to the top, see that ladder there, and then you sit down and you -"

"Slide?"

"Look at that. You're a natural."

James stuck his tongue out at her. "Can I go on it? I'm not too big?"

"Too big? No," said Lily. "Too old? Definitely. But go on. I'll allow it."

"Thank you, Mummy."

It was Lily's turn to stick out her tongue.

"It's wet, though, be careful of your clothes," she warned. He'd completely taken her aback by turning up in smart Muggle gear, a crisp shirt and pair of trousers that were definitely new. It highly amused her to think of James - and Sirius, probably - trawling Muggle shops to find appropriate clothes for meeting her parents.

He shot her an incredulous look. "I can dry them, you know."

"Not in public, you can't. Statute of Secrecy. As Head Girl -"

"Oh, you can't play that card. Not twice in one day."

"- as Head Girl, I simply can't let you break the law."

"Right," said James. "Because you never have?"

"Never," said Lily.

It was bollocks, and they both knew it.

"Well, I'm going on this slide thing," said James, "and I'm sure all these people -" he gestured, with a broad sweep of his arm, to the otherwise empty playground - "won't mind if I dry myself off afterwards."

Lily watched, laughing, as he clumsily scrambled up the ladder, plonked himself down, and -

"Well, that's not very exciting, is it?" he grumbled, clambering to his feet. "And now I've got a wet arse."

"It's exciting when you're little," said Lily, slightly defensive.

James looked sceptical.

"I think you're just easily excited."

"What did you do for fun when you were a child, then? Learn your family tree?"

"Ha, ha. I had a broom, remember? You don't need to slide around on your bum when you can fly."

His words stirred something in Lily's mind - a memory …

"Watch this," she told James, and headed over to the swing set.

Her feet hadn't touched the ground the last time she'd been on them, but she'd been a good deal shorter then. Now they scraped the asphalt, and she had to work harder to build up momentum, dragging herself as far back as she could before pushing forwards with all her might.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" James called; he was standing a few feet away, arms folded, eyebrows raised. "Because I hate to tell you, but -"

"Just watch!"

Of course, swinging, as fun as it had been back then, was now nothing compared to actually flying - but she had been able to fly then. She remembered Petunia's shrieks - how she'd hated it - and the rush, the thrill, the absolute joy that came from soaring through the air -

She was high enough now - she could let go -

Her momentum launched her into the air, and for a moment, a single second, she felt the old rush, convinced she had done it -

The last thing she heard before she collided with the ground was James' horrified voice, yelling her name - then a crack.

* * *

"Lily! Lily, c'mon, wake up …"

The ground was cold. Cold and damp. Lily could feel it seeping through her clothes. Her leg hurt. Her head hurt.

She opened her eyes and saw James' worried face swimming above her.

"Oh thank bloody Merlin," he breathed. "I thought I was going to have to tell your parents you'd copped it. Are you all right? Can you move? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Lily squinted. "You're … you're not holding up any fingers."

James looked at his hands. They were on her shoulders.

"Oh. Right. Look, I think you've done something to your leg -"

She recalled the crack she'd heard, and felt sick; she wanted to take a look, but something told her it wouldn't be wise to move from her current position.

There was a pause, then James said, "I'm no expert, but it looks broken to me."

Head still throbbing, Lily gingerly prised her upper body off the ground, supporting herself on her elbows. James was kneeling by her side; he wore a grim expression as he peered at her leg, which was bent at an unnatural angle. The longer she was awake, the more painful it was.

"Can you fix it?" she asked, her voice wobbling.

Another pause. "I know the spell. But -"

"But what?"

"I've only done it on smaller bones … noses and stuff. I don't want to risk it …" James trailed off. He was very pale; Lily had never seen him so distressed. "Don't the - isn't there a Muggle way to fix broken bones?"

"It takes a long time," said Lily. Her nose was stinging from the effort of holding back tears. "They put it in a plaster cast."

James ran his hands through his hair, exhaling. "Right. OK. What if - I went and got someone? Madam Pomfrey! I could go and get -"

"Madam Pomfrey? I don't understand why you can't do it."

"A lot can go wrong with bones," James told her. "All sorts … I don't trust myself to do this, it's too risky."

It was amazing, Lily thought, how quickly he had gone from joking around, taking the piss, to this - grave, worried, doubting himself. James Potter. Doubting himself.

"I trust you," she said.

Their eyes met; James' were troubled. Lily held his gaze, and after a few seconds, he took a deep breath and nodded.

"All right."

"How's that? Does it hurt?"

"It's sore, but it feels fixed." Lily wiggled her toes, and felt only a mild discomfort; she beamed up at James. "You are brilliant, you know."

"Well, yeah," he said, sounding like his old cocksure self, but Lily could see the glimmer of relief that passed over his face. He pushed his glasses up his nose and sat back on his haunches, then held out a hand to help Lily sit up.

"Does your head feel all right?"

"Bit achy. Not bad."

"Knocking it again can't have done you much good." He looked at her pointedly. "Not when you were clearly going batty already. What were you thinking, jumping off that thing?"

In hindsight, Lily had to agree that it probably hadn't been her best idea.

"I used to be able to fly off that swing, before I came to Hogwarts," she explained.

"So you thought you'd try it again, on the off-chance you could still do it?" James gaped at her. "Evans, that's crackers."

"Well, you were saying I was boring …"

"I wasn't saying that! I said this stuff isn't that exc- hang on, does that mean - you were showing off! You great big hypocrite!"

Lily felt herself turn scarlet; James was wide-eyed, half-laughing, half-scandalised. "I was not showing off!"

"You were! You were showing off, for me - oh, I can't wait to tell Sirius this - and you cocked it up. Well, that's it. We're officially equal now."

He grinned, utterly triumphant.

"I think I preferred you when you were panicking," Lily grumbled.

"Yeah, well, funnily enough I don't prefer you near-dead," said James. "Next time maybe try and show off a bit less dangerously, OK?"

"And deny you the chance to play Healer?" Lily relented under his gaze. "All right - if you insist, I won't throw myself off a swing again. For you."

"So selfless."

"Joking aside, though -"

"I never agreed to that."

"- joking aside," Lily said, throwing him a stern look, which softened as she went on, "I really am grateful for … you. Patching me up. I'm glad you're here."

"Aw. Thank you." James kissed her cheek. He paused. Grinned.

"I'm glad I'm here too."


	25. Number Three (You and Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bingo AU. I know ... I know.

"James!  _James!_ "

The car horn sounds frenziedly as James, rolling his eyes, hurries across the drive. As he slides into the driver's seat, his mother tuts loudly.

"You took your time!"

"Calm down," says James cheerfully. He clicks his seatbelt in and starts the engine, pausing to check his hair in the rearview mirror. "So we're a bit late …"

"It's bad enough," Adelaide remarks as they pull out of the drive, "that you weren't even  _here_ last week. I had to get a lift with Marjory White.  _Marjory White_ , James. Do you know how much she gossips? The woman never closes her mouth. I was quite worried she would swallow a fly, or a pigeon."

"I couldn't help it. I had a very important prior engagement –" he can see his mother's face contorting like she's swallowed something sour; a road trip to Skegness with the lads isn't her idea of an important engagement, clearly – "what! It was important for me to let off steam after I worked so hard for my exams. I - stop  _cackling_ like that, will you!"

Adelaide mops her streaming eyes with her handkerchief. "Sorry, darling. You did work hard." She pauses. "I just don't know quite how you managed to have  _such_ a good time in Skegness when you can't drink legally until March …"

"Well, you know what I say," says James brightly, "there's no party like a 7-Up party."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Adelaide enquires. "Fascinating. Oh, darling, look at the time! You're going ever so slowly, why don't you –"

"I'm going the speed limit, Mum!"

" _Are_ you?" Adelaide peers at the gauge. "Goodness. I've seen snails move more quickly."

James has to fight hard to keep a straight face. "You could drive, you know – oh  _wait!_ No you couldn't. Not since that last speeding fine –"

"That was hardly warranted," says Adelaide primly. "The car in front was going so slowly, what was I supposed to do?"

"Mum, it was a police car!"

"And that excuses holding up the entire motorway, does it? I might have been in a hurry."

James shakes his head, laughing. The first time he'd taken his mother out in his car, she had spent the whole time badgering him to go faster, eventually pressing hard on his knee so that his foot slammed on the accelerator. The ducks in the pond they'd shot into had been very surprised.

"Oh good, we're almost here," Adelaide observes. She rustles in her handbag for a packet of Werther's Originals, looking far happier. "Sweet, darling?"

"No thanks," says James, indicating as they reach the turn-off for the bingo hall. "It might pull out my false teeth."

The sweet hits him squarely on the jaw.

Entering the bingo hall, his mother is like a queen greeting her loyal subjects: she sweeps through the double doors with perfect poise, clutching her shawls to her as she nods graciously at the numerous people who smile and wave. Her usual table is smack bang in the middle of the room, already filled but for two seats: she propels James towards it with a wide smile that fades to mock-indignation as James is greeted far more enthusiastically than she is.

"Oh look, ladies, James is back!"

"James, dear! How lovely to see you!"

"Look at you! Hasn't he grown, Ada?"

"In a week?" says Adelaide , taking her seat with a raised eyebrow. "Actually, I think he's got shorter."

"Ooh, nonsense. Look at you, pet, you're so brown!"

"How was Skegness, James dear?" asks James' favourite, Betty. "Did you meet any nice girls?"

"None as lovely as you, Mrs B," James tells her smoothly, leaning in to peck her on the cheek. Betty blushes to the roots of her blue rinse as the other ladies whistle loudly.

"If you're looking for a girl, love," says Barbara, "my granddaughter Lucy would be perfect for you, just perfect."

Joan snorts. "Your Lucy? Och, no. You want my Elsie, now there's a bonny lass –"

"And he's supposed to see her while she's up in Perth, is he?"

"My granddaughter Sarah lives ten minutes away," Dorothy chimes in, waggling her eyebrows meaningfully at James.

James clears his throat uncomfortably. "Er, I think it's almost time to start …"

"Yes, it is," says his mother, coming to his rescue. "Settle down, ladies. Your granddaughters can do much better than James, anyway."

"Thanks, Mum."

Adelaide pats his cheek fondly and turns her attention to the front of the room, where the raised platform holding the microphone and table of prizes stands. To James' surprise, the usual caller, a woman in her thirties, isn't there. He's about to ask why when someone else bounds onto the platform: a girl. A girl of around his age, with unusual dark red hair and a very pretty face.

"Who's that?" he demands of the table.

"Oh, that's the new girl," says Barbara unhelpfully.

"Much better than the old one – she mumbled awfully, didn't she?"

Betty looks at James and smiles knowingly. "Her name's Libby, pet."

"No it isn't, your hearing's gone," says Joan scathingly. "It's  _Milly_."

Milly. James stares at her as she adjusts the microphone stand. She's the prettiest girl he's ever seen, and when she holds up her hands – the room goes quiet – and speaks, her voice is all he wants to hear.

"Eyes down," she says, and reaches for the bag of counters to draw the first one. "All right! Two and four, twenty four."

James' mother and her friends are quickly immersed in the game, but James – only allowed in the hall with special permission, given his age – sits back to watch Milly call the numbers. Her voice is clear as a bell, and she smiles every time there's a hushed  _'yes!'_ from somewhere in the hall. By the time the interval arrives, he's probably memorised every mannerism – like how she tucks her hair behind her ear every five minutes, how she keeps shifting from one foot to the other. He thinks he might be in love.

He could wait to approach her – but what if this is just a temporary job? What if she's gone next week? No, damn it, this can't wait. He  _has_ to meet her.

"Going to the loo," he informs the table – no one seems to hear him, as Dorothy and Joan are arguing over a misheard number – and slips off to the front of the room.

Milly is sitting on the steps leading to the platform, sipping from a bottle of water and checking her phone. She doesn't look up as James approaches. He takes a second to admire the swooping line of her nose, and then says, "er – Milly?"

She doesn't respond.

"Uh – Milly?"

No reaction. James blinks. Maybe she hasn't heard him: there's quite a racket in the hall. He raises his voice and tries again: "Excuse me –"

This time, she looks up, and James' stomach jolts at how pretty she is up close – he doesn't usually notice make-up, but her lips are coloured a striking red and it suits her wonderfully.

"Oh! Sorry!" She quickly pockets her phone, then jumps to her feet. "I didn't realise you were there. Can I help you with something?" Her eyes – how  _green!_ \- seem to take him in for the first time, and she looks surprised: "Are you lost?"

"No, no! I'm – I'm just the weekly chauffeur," James explains quickly, gesturing to his mother's table. "I have permission to be here. I just – I thought I'd – say hi. Milly, right?"

Surprise swiftly turns to confusion. "Um – no … sorry."

"Your – your name isn't Milly?"  _Damn it, Joan!_

She shakes her head. "No. It's Lily, actually."

Half-relieved, half-embarrassed, James notes that Lily fits her perfectly before he apologises profusely. "I'm so sorry – I was told – "

"Don't worry about it," says Lily genially. She gives James a look that's almost mischievous as she continues, "so – you were asking, were you?"

"Might have been," James grins. "I'm James, by the way."

"Milly. Oh no – wait –"

They both laugh, James slightly hysterically, because there are warm  _feelings_  shooting through his body and goosebumps erupting on his arms and a tremor in his hands that isn't usually there.

"So how come you're – doing this?" he asks, waving at the stage. "You don't look old enough to be a bingo aficionado, somehow."

"Is there an age requirement?" Lily wonders. "No, I'm not actually old enough to  _be_ here, strictly speaking – I'm not eighteen til January, but my nan and granddad are regulars – that's them over there, the couple with the jazzy hats – and when Sharon had to leave, they needed a caller at short notice so I said I'd do it."

"Nice of you," James comments. Lily blushes –  _he made her blush!_ – and shrugs.

"It's nothing, really. But I was going to say – it's really lovely of  _you_ to take your grandma every week. A lot of lads wouldn't do that."

 _Oh fuck_. James rubs awkwardly at his nose, playing for time: what does he  _say?_ If he leaves it – lets it slide – then he won't have to make things uncomfortable; but he doesn't want this to be the last conversation they have. He  _likes_ her. What if – by some stroke of luck – it turns into something more, because he's not imagining it, is he, there's  _chemistry_ here – and she meets his mum and – oh,  _shit!_ What if she says something similar  _to_ his mum? His mother acts proud and untouchable, but he knows holding her head high became a defence mechanism to the looks in the playground, the covert glances from the other, younger mothers and the open stares and whispers of the kids. He doesn't care – she's his  _mum_ , he loves her, and now they've only got each other what does age matter, really? – but he'll do anything to shield her from the narrow-mindedness of other people. Not that he thinks Lily is narrow-minded – it's an obvious mistake to make, isn't it? – but still. It matters to his mum, he knows that.

So he swallows and says, apologetically, "that's my mum, actually."

He can almost feel the embarrassment radiating from Lily: she looks mortified, chewing on her lip as she seems to search desperately for words, a hand fluttering ineffectually at her side. "I – I'm so sorry," she garbles eventually, "I'm really – I didn't mean to offend –"

"It's fine," James says, and it is, and he's sorry he's had to put her in this awkward position. "Really. People often assume …"

"Well, they shouldn't," Lily remarks hotly, still glowing vermillion. James shrugs in agreement.

"I actually like being a medical miracle," he jokes, to lighten the mood. "I think it's very apt. For me."

To his relief, it seems to work: Lily laughs, the tension almost visibly falling from her shoulders, but before James can say anything else she glances at the stage and gets to her feet. Reluctantly, he hopes. "It's been ten minutes, sorry – I ought to start the next game," she says. "Do you – I mean, my nan and granddad always hang around at the end to chat, so we could … chat. More. If you liked."

"I would like," says James, as casually as he can manage. He suspects he fails somewhat by the rapidity of his response: she'd barely finished speaking.

She flashes him a smile. His returning one lingers all the way back to his table.

The next game seems far longer, but he's content to focus on Lily: she's mesmerising, it's like watching flames flicker, and James is captivated. He's yearning to get to know her better: he just wants to know  _her_.

He's on the edge of his seat by the time Lily calls "two fat ladies!" to a ripple of chuckles - "eight and eight, eighty-eight!" – and his mother strikes a number on her ticket, blinks, and then cries out, " _BINGO!"_

Bingo indeed, James thinks, catching a smiling Lily's eye.

Adelaide's victory means James has to wait while she collects the prize and lauds it over her gang: he pretends to grumble, hiding a delighted grin when he manages to slide up to the front of the room once more. Lily, half-in and half-out of a mustard yellow coat, waves him over.

"I didn't fix it, I swear," is the first thing she says.

"The thought hadn't even occurred to me," James replies truthfully. "But then, I'm a trusting fellow …"

"A fellow, eh?" Lily appears to struggle with her coat, and James steps forwards automatically to help her. Their hands brush against each other. James' heart leaps into his mouth: he pulls his hands away, then wishes at once that he hadn't.

"Or a gent, if you prefer," he allows, as if nothing happened.

"I dunno, I like geezer, myself." Lily surveys him with pursed lips. "Or are you too posh to be a geezer?"

"I'm not posh," says James, affronted.

"Yeah? What school do you go to?"

He names it, knowing what her reaction will be - and as he expects, she bursts out laughing.

"Oh, you are  _so_ posh. D'you wear those short trousers?"

"Well,  _I_  do," says James. "But only because it would be a crime not to show off these legs."

Lily's eyes gleam. " _Really_. Can I see?"

By this point James is extremely certain that he would like to kiss her at some point. This remark makes it very difficult for that point not to be right then and there, in the bingo hall, with his mother several feet away.

"Hold your horses," he says instead. "I don't even know your surname and you're trying to get me naked –"

He loves it, he realises, when she blushes. "Shh! I'm not trying to get you  _naked_  –"

"Yet?"

"I - would you be disappointed if I said no?"

 _Yes_. "Yes," says James, deciding honesty is the best policy. "But you haven't said no, so I'm all right."

"No!"

"Well, now I've forgotten what the question was. You – ouch!"

He fumbles in his collar for the projectile that's just pelted the back of his head: a small, cellophane-covered toffee. Half-exasperated, half-amused, he turns and sees his mother, arm aloft as she prepares to launch another Werther's Original missile.

"That," he says, turning back to Lily, who's grinning widely, "is my lovely mum's way of telling me she'd like to go home now." Disappointment tugs at his insides: he doesn't want to go, why does he have to go? Especially when he'll have to face his mother's grilling on the way back home, he thinks wryly.

"Oh, well, that's a shame," says Lily breezily. "I was so close to getting you to take your trousers off."

It's James' turn to blush. "There's always next week," he manages.

"Hmm," Lily allows. "Maybe. A whole week, though – I might have forgotten all about you and your short trousers by then. Or lack thereof," she amends, causing James to almost choke on the breath he'd sucked in.

"W-what about tomorrow?" he splutters, eyes streaming. Lily thumps him helpfully on the back.

"What  _about_ tomorrow?"

"Are you free?"

Lily makes a hedging noise, and pulls out her phone: James thinks she's only pretending to tap busily at the screen, but he can't be sure. Eventually, she looks up and grins at him.

"Bingo."


	26. In the Heat of the Moment

The funny feeling James Potter stirred in her stomach was particularly strong that day - maybe it was the warm smile he'd given her as he asked her to pass the marmalade, or maybe the fact that she'd noticed he was wearing odd socks. Or maybe it was just his presence, the way he moved with his long lanky stride, the way his glasses kept slipping down his nose and the frustrated sigh he'd give as he pushed them back into place – all these little things that she had slowly noticed and come to love about him.

Whatever it was, there was something that made her decide, right there on that September morning, to ask him out. To tell him that she wanted to be with him, after all these months of a growing friendship that had meant more to her than she could have ever imagined. And the sun shone, that day, and fate smiled, and Remus was in the hospital wing – or  _visiting his mother_  – and Charms began with Flitwick asking them to pair up, and James' eyes, eager behind lopsided glasses, met hers, and she walked over to sit beside him with a heart full of thudding anticipation and a stomach full of butterflies.

"Ah, fire charms," he sighed, flipping the textbook to the correct page. "What a wonderful invention. Are we only  _just_ supposed to be learning these? Because I don't mind admitting that I've been setting things on fire for a long time now."

"How do you know you've been doing it right?" she queried.

"Fire appeared. Correct me if I'm wrong, Evans, but that seems to indicate that my methods of creating fire were sound."

She felt a flutter of pleasure as he said her name; whether he called her Evans or Lily seemed to depend entirely on his mood. She noticed that his use of Evans tended to coincide with being at his funniest, deadpan and light-hearted, which always left her sides weak with laughter and her feelings for him even stronger.

"Well, we'll see, shall we?" she said challengingly. "I'd personally put good money on my being far more adept at it than you –"

"You pronounced 'inept' wrong."

She flicked him none-too-gently, trying not to laugh. "Shut up. You can go first, for that."

He grinned and started to push back his sleeves; his long, slender arms and wrists made heat rush to her face, and she quickly looked instead at the branch they were supposed to be igniting, hovering above the desk, away from anything that it could set fire to. Out of the corner of her eye, Lily watched as James raised his wand and flicked it deftly at the branch, which burst into flame.

"Oh my God," she said before she could stop herself. "Non-verbal? You big -"

"Genius?" he grinned. "I told you I had a propensity for candescence, Evans."

"I was going to say show-off, actually, and you just furthered my conclusion with that dilatant choice of vocabulary."

"I can't help it if I have a multitudinous vernacular."

"Don't you think you're just being meretricious?"

"Don't  _you_?"

They grinned at each other. This loquacious side of James Potter was immensely attractive to Lily; it was this side he had been displaying for a while now, in lieu of trying to impress her with his physical talents. It was working, too.

"Your turn," James said, extinguishing the flaming branch with another flick of his wand. "10 points to Gryffindor if you can do it non-verbally, as demonstrated adroitly by yours truly."

"We can't give out house points! Can we?"

"I hope we can," said James, looking nonplussed, "otherwise I may have – well. Anyway. Let's see what you've got, Evans."

Lily snorted and, with deliberate exaggeration, rolled up her sleeves and flexed her fingers. She could hear James laughing at her imitation of him, and feel his eyes on her, but forced herself not to look – if she was going to do as he did, she would have to concentrate -

_Come on. Think of the spell, concentrate on the wand movement … you can do it …_

But something flared in her chest as she focused on the incantation, and with a burst of spontaneous –  _something_ , she spun round in her chair and said, "listen, do you want to go –"

But James wasn't listening. He was staring at his arm, which was –  _oh God oh God oh God_  –  _on fire._ Bright, flickering flames were burning up his sleeve – Lily gaped in horror at her wand, which was pointing at him – she must have – oh  _shit_  – and he was gasping with pain, his face white –  _do something!_

" _Aguamenti!_ " she screamed, her brain kicking in action, and a wave of water spilled from the tip of her wand, dousing James' arm and extinguishing the flames, though Lily could feel her face burning just as fiercely, as the rest of the class turned to stare.

"That," James whispered weakly, "was not non-verbal."

* * *

"I am  _so_ sorry."

"Oh, don't be," said James amusedly. He was leaning back on his pillows, heavily bandaged arm resting across his chest; Lily could see a sliver of burnt skin on his wrist, and it made her stomach twist with guilt. "I like a girl with a proclivity for incinerating men. It's most attractive."

"Stop it! I feel awful –" Lily broke off as his words sunk in. He was giving her a look that sent a shiver of delight and anticipation through her body. Did he mean -?

"I should be apologising to  _you_ , anyway," he continued, picking idly at his bandage. "The sudden ignition of my limb interrupted you. What were you saying?"

Did he  _know_ what she had been saying?

Of course he did, Lily realised. He was James Potter. He had caught on, understood her, read her mind, just as he had been doing for the last year.

"I was asking you out," she told him simply. Their eyes met.

"Such chemistry between us," he said after a few moments of silence, "that sparks flew."

She snorted.

"Well, aside from a slight concern for my physical well-being, I can't see any reason to say no," he carried on, and her heart swelled; he had that look on his face, that impassive expression she knew was masking a broad grin. "Be a dear and don't set me on fire again, all right, Evans? I don't consider myself particularly demanding, but if we're going to get this thing going I feel I need to insist upon that one condition …"

"I consider that extremely demanding," she replied. His un-bandaged hand reached out and threaded its fingers through hers. "But I suppose … if I must comply …"

The broad grin broke through, and his hand tugged on hers, pulling her down to his level, and their lips met in the middle, both of them putting everything they had into their first kiss, equals.

"You are  _most_ adept at that," he murmured when they pulled apart.


	27. Concussed

He was an idiot, and the first thing she did upon seeing his eyes open was tell him so.

"You're an idiot."

"Oh, ouch," said James, squinting up at her. "Just when I thought we were past name-calling." He grimaced. "Er – Evans. Bit awkward to ask, but … why am I on the ground? What did you do to me?"

"What did  _I_ do to you?" Lily snorted. "What did you do to yourself, more like. You thought it'd be a great idea to demonstrate just how well you could score a goal with a Bludger coming at you and no Beaters to stop it."

"Aaah … that rings a bell." His eyebrows suddenly shot up. "Why didn't you stop me, if you thought it was such a stupid idea?"

"I tried," Lily explained patiently. "You didn't listen. Do you ever?"

"I have selective hearing."

"It'd be more selective if you got your skull crushed."

"Well, there's a point." James' eyes widened, and moved his hand up to run it over his head. "It isn't, is it?"

Lily was tempted to lie – to teach him a lesson! – but he looked so pathetic, heroic James Potter, lying there on the Quidditch pitch with his glasses askew, his expression that of a scared little boy. There was something refreshing about seeing this vulnerable side of him, a side she hadn't even know existed until recently. His expression when he had asked her to come and watch his Quidditch practice had been enough to tell her that he definitely had a vulnerable side, though; even if she had wanted to say no (which she certainly hadn't), it would have been difficult.

"No, I don't think so," said Lily reassuringly. "I don't know how badly you are hurt, though, you took a big whack to the head – does it hurt?"

"Nah," James replied heartily, but at that moment, he pressed his hand harder to his head and gave a sharp yelp. "F- that's – OK –"

"Take your hand away, for God's sake! Is it bleeding?"

James seemed unable to speak for a moment, his eyes screwed shut, but he weakly waved his blood-free hand in Lily's face. "Just a bit sore," he gasped eventually.

"Yeah, I'll bet," said Lily, frowning. She wasn't quite sure what to do now – she knew that head injuries were never to be taken lightly, and even if there was no external damage, there could still be problems …

"Can you stand?" she asked James. He blinked at her, then gave her a thumbs up. Slowly, he prised first his head, then the rest of his body off the ground – but as soon as he straightened up, he staggered sideways into Lily.

"Steady!"

She managed to get an arm around his waist, but he was sagging against her, and even though he was a skinny thing, his weight was too much for her to bear, and she had to ease him back to the ground. She pulled off her cloak and bundled it underneath his head as he groaned. All of his lightly cocky charm had disappeared now; his face had gone very white, and Lily felt panic rising. How was she supposed to get him to the hospital wing now? He probably had a concussion – what were you supposed to do with someone when that happened?

 _Don't let them sleep_ , she remembered suddenly, just as James' eyes closed.

"No!" she cried, dropping to her knees besides him and lightly shaking his shoulder. "No – James – don't –"

"Not doing anything," he murmured. To her immense relief, his eyes opened again, and met hers; he looked dazed, but a familiar grin was creeping over his face. "You worried about me, Evans?"

"Yes," said Lily honestly, "I think you might have a concussion, you really can't go to sleep –"

"I'm tired, though."

"It's half one in the afternoon!"

"Well, I was fighting dragons this morning, wasn't I … and then –" he yawned widely – "and then I had … that meeting with … the ambassador … he said … no Porlocks …"

"What are you on about?" Lily asked in mild horror, a feeling not helped by noticing that James' eyes had start to slide shut again. " _No!_ James! Come  _on_ , I need help here, I need to get you to the hospital wing –"

James' eyes did not open again, but his brow creased, and after a few moments, he muttered, "mirror …"

"What?"

"In … pocket. Mirror … say … Sirius …"

Very much hoping that he wasn't still talking nonsense, Lily reached into the pocket of his robes. To her relief, her fingers closed around a smooth, glass surface; she pulled out a small, square mirror, but it didn't seem to do anything except show her reflection. What had James said?  _Say Sirius_  …

"Sirius!" she said to the mirror, feeling faintly ridiculous. Nothing happened; her own face blinked frustratedly up at her.

"Sirius Black!" she tried, and – to her astonishment – her reflection disappeared, to be replaced with darkness – but then there was a flurry of movement, and –  _Sirius' face was staring at her_.

"Evans?" he demanded. "What the hell are you doing with that? Where's James?"

"He got hit by a Bludger. I think he's got a concussion, he's not making much sense, and he can't walk properly," Lily gabbled. She felt extremely bizarre, talking to what  _should_ have been her own face – evidently Sirius had one of these mirrors too – would these two stop at nothing to be in contact with each other at all times? They really were inseparable, she realised. "He needs to go to the hospital wing, obviously, but I don't know how I'm going to get him there, I can't risk levitating him that far –"

Sirius raised his eyebrows, but merely said, "all right, we'll be down soon. Keep him awake."

And then he was gone.

Lily stared at the mirror – now showing her own face again – for a few seconds, before Sirius' words sunk in –  _keep him awake_ – hell, that was exactly what she wasn't doing!

She crawled back to James' side; his eyes remained stubbornly closed, but she thought – she  _hoped_ – that the way he was breathing meant he was still conscious. She flicked the side of his face, and he flinched infinitesimally.

"Stay awake, all right?" she told him sternly. "Sirius is coming, and then you're going to the hospital wing …"

He mumbled something indistinct.

"It would be really helpful if you could open your eyes," she said hopefully, "just to let me know you're still with us, you know …"

She felt a rush of relief as his eyes fluttered open.

"Just for you," he murmured. She smiled at him, unable to help herself. This was not how she had pictured spending her Saturday, by any stretch, even after she had said yes to James' offer – but, potential grievous head injury aside, it wasn't so bad, really …

"Prongs!"

James' eyes opened further at the yell; Sirius was thundering across the pitch with Remus, Peter and Madam Pomfrey in tow. He was crouched at James' side before the others had barely caught up.

"You all right?" he asked, his face wreathed in concern. It was an expression Lily had never seen Sirius Black wear before, and it was touching, if mildly disconcerting.

James grinned faintly.

"Not bad. Just doing … what I do."

"It would make my job a lot easier if you stopped doing what you do," Madam Pomfrey huffed as she reached them, pulling out her wand at once and moving it over James' head.

"Maybe," James sighed, "but I wouldn't want to … deprive you of … this fun …"

"The fun of having to put you back together after you've been showing off for your lady friend, is that?" Madam Pomfrey enquired briskly. Lily felt her cheeks flare red, but before she could contest that description, she caught James' eye. He winked.

There were, she conceded, far worse things she had been called than James Potter's  _lady friend_  …

"Why would you play with a Bludger without a Beater there?" Remus asked.

"Obviously I was trying … to get myself hit," James murmured, "so Evans would look after me …"

He glanced up at her, and grinned again.

"Worth it."


	28. The Scent of Things to Come

She came back after the Christmas holidays wearing a new kind of perfume, and that, as it turned out, was all it took.

Professor Vector was one of those teachers who didn't believe that NEWT students should be treated any differently to the rest of the school, and as a result still implemented a seating plan in her lessons. Sirius was right at the front, directly in front of her desk, so that nothing he did went unnoticed. James was in the far corner, the logic here being – he assumed – that he couldn't distract other students if he was removed from the action.

He smiled affectionately at the naivety of teachers as he folded his parchment into an aeroplane with deft, practiced movements. Dear Professor Chalke – in an attempt to let her Muggle Studies class have some light-hearted fun in the last lesson before Christmas, she had guilelessly taught them all how to make a Muggle toy called a paper aeroplane, modelled on the enormous vehicles used by Muggles to travel long distances. If folded in a precise way and launched with just the right amount of force and at the correct angle, the thing could maintain a remarkable velocity and momentum. Trapped in the house for a whole week during the holidays due to a blizzard, James and Sirius had spent hours perfecting the art.

And now … now it was time to put it to the test.

James leant forwards, grasped his aeroplane between his fingers, pulled back his arm, and launched it at the exact moment that Lily Evans, sitting in front of him, turned around. Her long hair swung in his direction, sending such a strong waft of floral-scented fragrance up his nose that he choked on air; his elbows slipped off the desk.

He had been tilting his chair onto its front two legs to get a better position for launch, and the loss of support from his arms threw him forwards, the force from his body tipping the desk. With a yell, both he and the desk toppled over, and the last thing James saw before he crashed headfirst into –  _oh shit –_ Lily - was his aeroplane, soaring valiantly across the classroom, ever so slightly off-course, inevitably missing its target – Sirius – by inches, and heading instead for the thunder-faced Professor Vector.

He hit the floor with impact, landing badly; a horrible, sickening pain and accompanying noise told him that his shoulder had been thrown out of its socket by the way the desk had hit him as they made contact with the ground. For a moment, he just lay there, his eyes closed; he could hear commotion around him, but it seemed very distant from his position. There was something heavy lying on top of him; it smelled very nice, like his mother's flowerbeds …

"Evans!"

He opened his eyes. So did Lily. Her chin was resting on his chest, her legs tangled awkwardly in those of her chair, which was digging into his shin. They stared at each other. James took a moment to note that he had never been this close to her before, and that her eyes were a very bright green. They were also full of amusement.

"You great oaf," said Lily, not sounding at all cross. She disentangled herself and clambered off him; the sudden shift in weight made James' attention switch to his dislocated shoulder, stabbing painfully from the odd angle at which he was lying. He sat up, and immediately had to suppress an urge to throw up.

"Are you all right?" Lily asked from somewhere above him. He glanced up and saw that she had been joined by Professor Vector – who had the paper aeroplane crumpled pathetically in her fist – and Sirius, who was laughing uproariously.

"I could probably benefit from a visit to the hospital wing," James managed between clenched teeth. Sirius immediately swung out a hand to help him up, but Vector shook her head.

"Not you, Black. You can stay here and get on with your work, like you should have been before Potter's little disturbance."

James was about to say that she definitely seemed disturbed, but he accidentally shifted his position, sending a wave of nausea through him, and hastily decided to keep his mouth clamped shut. Sirius, too, looked as if he would very much like to say something rude, but anything he might have said was covered by Lily.

"I'll take him, Professor," she said brightly. Vector frowned.

"I don't think so. You were just as responsible for this ruckus –"

_What?_

James, forgetting the churning of his stomach in his indignation, began angrily, "It wasn't her –"

"Actually, I think I sprained my ankle," Lily interrupted. James could tell from the way her body had tensed that she was furious, but she maintained a calm front. "I'm on duty this evening –" she tapped the prefect's badge pinned to her robes – "so I'd better get it sorted."

Vector looked mutinous, but she could not argue with that, and so, with a jerk of her head, she dismissed them and clipped back to the front of the classroom. James got unsteadily to his feet, his shoulder aching almost unbearably now, and followed a limping Lily from the room.

"God," said Lily, once they were out of earshot, "what a cow! She used to be all right, I don't know what happened."

"You shouldn't have just taken that," James frowned. "It wasn't your fault."  _Well, it wasn't technically her fault_ , he thought – but he  _had_ been distracted by her perfume – why had she changed it? He remembered her old smell, which had been citrusy, like limes, and while nice, nowhere near as –  _as what?_

"If I'd argued, she definitely wouldn't have let me go, and she'd have landed me in detention to boot," Lily yawned. James noticed suddenly that she was now walking along with no sign of a limp, and felt a funny, warm feeling in his chest.

"Your ankle isn't sprained!"

Lily shot him a mischievous grin.

"I may have been wrong about that."

"Filthy liar," said James. "I was feeling bad about knocking you over!"

"Well, it did hurt a bit," Lily shrugged, "but it was a welcome distraction, to be honest. I was  _so_ bored."

"I'm not sure how I feel about this. Letting a juvenile delinquent – a perjurious juvenile delinquent – lead me in my vulnerable condition …"

"Hardly perjurious," said Lily, sounding very amused now. "And watch who you're calling juvenile, Mr Paper Aeroplane. How d'you know how to make those, anyway?"

They had reached the hospital wing. James pushed open the door with his good arm and turned to grin at Lily.

"Secret."

Madam Pomfrey's face fell as soon as she saw him.

"First day of the new term!" she remonstrated, steering him over to a bed. "What have you been up to now?"

"Little collision with a desk and a floor – oh, and Evans here," James explained, as Madam Pomfrey examined his shoulder, tutting loudly. "Anyway, I thought you'd be glad I came to you, after last time …"

"Why, what happened last time?" asked Lily interestedly. She had perched herself on the bed opposite James', swinging her legs, and seemed in no hurry at all to get back to Arithmancy. James couldn't blame her; he was also very pleased to have her company. He had not been alone with her for a long time, although they had been getting on much better since she had stopped hanging around with Snape. Today's events seemed to have erased any history they had, although James wasn't at all sure why.

"He tried to put the shoulder back in himself," said Madam Pomfrey grimly. Lily looked disgusted.

"It wasn't that bad," said James. "It only took about three weeks to get it working properly again."

"And now you've gone and done it again," Madam Pomfrey chastised.

"Well, yes, but at least I came to you first."

"Is there a magical way of putting it back?" Lily asked. James pulled a face, and Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

"No. Not for this. He'll just have to deal with it, and if he doesn't like that, then a suitable alternative would be to stop pulling these stunts in the first place."

"It wasn't a stunt," James corrected, "it was an accident."

Madam Pomfrey's response was to swiftly and forcefully pop his shoulder back into place.

"No need for that kind of language," she reprimanded, as James' curses drew to an end. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, as the sharp pain was replaced by a throbbing ache. "I'll get you a painkiller. It'll take a while to wear off."

"Just what I like to hear," James gasped. He cracked open one eye, and saw Lily smirking at him. Opening the other eye, he said, "are you taking pleasure from my pain? You sadist."

"That's quite an extensive gallimaufry of swear words you've got there," she remarked.

He tried not to laugh, but it was a futile battle. "Gallimaufry? Impressive."

"Thanks. I learnt it from my dad the other week. Been dying to try it out. And," she continued, eyeballing him, "speaking of impressive skills,  _where_ did you learn how to make paper aeroplanes?"

"I told you - it's a secret."

Lily looked at him and asked, worryingly, "are you in a lot of pain?"

"As much as I am willing to be in," said James. "You leave your wand where it is. I'm watching you. Do you really want to know?"

"Yes! Tell me!"

James heaved a dramatic sigh. "It's hard for me to talk about," he began, adopting an expression of great distress, "but over the summer I was working undercover in a Muggle stationery shop, gathering information for the government. It was late on a Thursday night when the shop was attacked by –"

"I will re-dislocate your shoulder," said Lily, drawing her wand.

"You asked," James told her. "Put that wand away! I feel very uncomfortable. Victimised, in fact. Much like I did on that fateful Thursday night –"

"Are you always this much of a pain in the arse?"

"I thought you knew I was," said James mildly. He leapt up in relief as Madam Pomfrey returned with a vial of brightly coloured potion. "Thank goodness! Evans is causing me extreme distress."

"Take that," Madam Pomfrey ordered, ignoring his last comment, "and you can go. Come back if it's still hurting after a couple of hours. If it's not, don't come back for at least another six months."

"I've got a Quidditch match in February," James reminded her. "Can't make any promises." He downed the potion in one and grimaced – it tasted like the very questionable liquor they'd once found in Peter's mother's drinks cabinet, but at least it also had the same effect of taking the edge off. He rotated his arm carefully, pleased to find that it barely hurt at all.

"Ready?" Lily got to her feet as well, glancing at her watch. "Arithmancy will just be finishing. It's Charms next, we'd better go straight down."

They left the hospital wing in silence. James was suddenly aware that this – whatever it had been – was about to end, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to. Would they now go back to only speaking in social circles? They had been interacting like friends just then.  _Were_ they now friends? They had never been  _enemies_ , certainly, but he had held a certain amount of contempt for her when she had been friends with Snape, and then anger with himself when something in him had decided that he really, really fancied her – and when he had decided, on a stupid whim, to ask her out when she was in a horrible mood last June. He had managed to suppress those feelings for the last few months, with a new Chaser on the Gryffindor team taking up most of his attention, but now … her perfume … her laugh ... that cheeky expression … it was stirring those feelings up again.

Before he could stop himself, brought to desperation by the awkward silence, he blurted out, "you've changed your perfume," and then inwardly froze, kicking himself –  _why?_ What a ridiculous thing to say – she would think he was a complete weirdo -

She looked at him, an inscrutable expression on her face – which was, James told himself, better than disgust, or horror. "I have. My mum got me this stuff for Christmas."

"It's nice," said James quickly, before she could think that he meant it in a critical way.

"Thanks."

He could see the Charms classroom up ahead, and felt a twinge of panic for what was about to come – or, he realised, more likely, for the fact that he didn't  _know_ what was about to come. Lily Evans always seemed to trigger this uncertainty in him, a feeling he never felt about anything else. What was it about her?

Lily had spotted her friends approaching from the other end of the corridor; James could see Sirius, Remus and Peter just behind them.

"Well, I hope your arm feels better," she said, after a short pause. "Thanks for getting me out of Arithmancy, I owe you one."

"No problem," James grinned. As she turned to move towards her friends, he said, "Muggle Studies."

Confusion crept over Lily's face. "What?"

"Where I learnt how to make a paper aeroplane. Muggle Studies." He shrugged. "I thought my story was more interesting, personally, but …"

Lily smiled.

"So this attack on the stationery shop," she said conversationally. "Who was it? How did you fight them off?"

"Oh, Evans," James sighed, his heart thudding – he felt like punching the air, but he thought his shoulder probably wasn't ready for that yet. "What a night it was! There I was, minding my own business, sorting out the – er – paper shelves, when all of a sudden …"

 


	29. Go the Distance

_For the prompt: James + co talk about how far he and Lily have gone._

* * *

 

It was a lazy sort of Saturday. They all had a lot to do – they always did – but it was one of those days on which nothing got done, and that was just something they had to accept. It seemed only right that they were spending this time together, instead of working, anyway: James was supposed to be at Quidditch training, but it was snowing heavily, a horrible Scottish blizzard, and his rare, unscheduled presence in the dormitory on a Saturday evening was cause for celebration.

So they were doing nothing.

(Or, at least, they were doing nothing  _now:_ ten minutes earlier Sirius had said, "Wormtail, how many Every Flavour Beans do you think you can get in your mouth at once?" and Peter had at once proceeded to find out. It was forty-seven, and he was almost sick.)

James was very content with doing nothing for once. He was one of those people who thrived on a busy schedule, but it was cold, and he was tired, and he missed simply  _being_ around his friends, slobbing around in the dorm, exchanging random observations and thoughts and occasionally plotting mischief. Though of course, he was Head Boy now, so they had to spend far more time plotting, to ensure they would  _definitely_  not be caught.

He helped himself to the new bag of Every Flavour Beans that Peter had provided after eating the last one. Marmalade – he wrinkled his nose at the taste. Marmalade was Lily's favourite flavour, but then she liked a lot of strange things, like sprouts.

"What's Lily doing today?" asked Sirius, apparently reading James' mind. "She didn't mind not spending the day with you?"

James shook his head. "She's just in the girls' room with the others, I think. Not sure what they're doing."

"Talking about you," said Sirius, grinning.

"Who can blame them?" James yawned, reaching for another bean. "Bloody hell, this bag's full of coconut ones … Moony, here, do me a favour and get rid of them for me."

Happily, Remus obliged. "How's it going with you and Lily, anyway?" he asked as he carefully dropped white beans into his palm. "Everything all right?"

"Great." James' smile was automatic. "Brilliant, in fact."

"Have you …" Peter leaned forwards, his face flushing. "I mean, have you …?"

"Have I what? Spit it out, Wormtail."

Sirius nudged James gently in the ribs: "He means …  _you know_." He looked at Peter. "Don't you?"

Turning redder still, Peter nodded.

"Oh," said James. " _That_."

The atmosphere in the dormitory seemed to shift.  _That_ was not something they talked about often: none of them had ever had much success with girls, except Sirius, and then girls were often far more interested in him than he was in them. James would consider his relationship with Lily a success, but really they had only been going out for just over two months, and besides – where would one do …  _that?_ He was not allowed in the girls' dormitory, and in any case, the dormitory doors were unlockable (or at least, theirs was). The rest of the castle was cold and draughty, particularly at this time of year, and there was always  _somebody_ around – and the ghosts, who could drift through walls, and Peeves! How would  _that_ be done with Peeves around?

James opened his mouth to say all this, but before he could, the door opened and Lily's head appeared around it.

They all stared at her.

"Hello," she said, and then, when they continued to stare, she added self-consciously, "what?"

"Nothing," said Peter.

"We were just talking," said Remus.

"About what?" asked Lily.

"About how far you and James have gone," said Sirius casually. Peter squeaked, eyes wide.

Lily looked at James. "Did you tell them?"

"No!" he said quickly. "I mean … I wasn't going to give any … details."

To his surprise, Lily shrugged. "I don't see why not. I can tell them if you don't feel comfortable with it."

"I'm torn," said Sirius in hushed tones, "between wanting to hear this, and really, really …  _not_." Peter nodded emphatically in agreement; Remus simply looked awkward. The dormitory suddenly seemed very small.

"The furthest we've gone," Lily said – James felt his mouth drop – he wasn't sure he wanted his friends to hear this, either – "is … up into the mountains behind Hogsmeade."

There was silence – which was quickly followed by a roar of (slightly relieved) outrage. As James' heart-rate returned to normal, he looked at Lily, who gave him the smallest of winks.

"What?" she cried over the yells. "You asked how far we'd gone! It was a really long walk up there –"

James grinned. He needn't have worried.

With Lily, he never did.


	30. Jealousy

James' spoon had been halfway to his mouth for approximately two minutes, and it showed no signs of moving from that point. Milk was steadily dripping on to the table below, but he didn't appear to notice. His eyes were fixed on the large stack of cards in varying shades of pink that surrounded his girlfriend.

"How long do you think he can hold it?" Lily asked the table at large.

"He's trembling – I give it half a minute," Mary declared immediately.

"I'll say two," said Remus.

"Two and a half," Peter opined.

"Ridiculous," said Sirius loyally, and all eyes swivelled to him. "He does this a lot – he can hold it for at least five minutes longer. Look at the way he's gripping the spoon … that'll help him."

Lily observed said variable and conceded that Sirius had a point.

"Charms in six minutes, though," she pointed out with a glance at her watch. "He's going to get hungry if he doesn't eat. He says Flitwick's voice makes him hungry."

"Maybe you should put the cards away," Remus suggested. "He might come out of it then."

"No," said Lily at once. "He's being a prat and this is his penalty. I mean, honestly, how many cards has  _he_ got?"

The others exchanged looks that said this was a fair point. "You did get more, though," said Peter. "I think it's just the sheer number –"

"And  _I_  think it's just the fact that he's a jealous idiot," Lily sighed. "Who is right? We may never know, unless he snaps out of this melodramatic display of knobheadishness and admits to the latter." She sipped her tea thoughtfully, and then added to Peter, "it is the latter, by the way."

"Were we betting, before?" asked Sirius suddenly. "Because Macdonald, you've lost, and Moony, so have you – oh, and you too, Wormtail."

"No, we weren't," said Remus quickly. "Someone kick him in the shin, or something. We're going to be late for Charms."

"I don't think that's necessary," said Lily. She leant in close to James - who wasn't even blinking ( _how_ was he doing that? She'd have to ask him later) – and laid a hand on the one of his that wasn't engaged in the world's most stationary egg-and-spoon race, minus an egg. He didn't react at all, but she thought she could feel his pulse pick up speed at her touch.

"James," she murmured in his ear. She deliberately let her lips brush his skin. "James, it's OK. I know you're not jealous. It's like Peter said – it  _is_ a lot of cards to receive. And you didn't expect it. I mean, what does it say about your  _authority_ , that so many people would send your girlfriend Valentine's cards?" She whistled softly. "It doesn't bear thinking about."

She could almost hear his brain whirring, wondering what she was up to – because he would know, for certain, that she was up to something.

"But it is Valentine's Day, and – well, it's rather inconvenient for me, having a boyfriend in a state of shock," she went on. "And since you're not jealous … you won't mind at all if I spend some time with one of these other Valentines, will you?"

The spoon clattered to the table, sending milk flying and shrieks emitting from the people it splashed. Lily grinned, triumphant, as James spun around to face her, hazel eyes wide behind milk-spattered glasses.

"I am  _not_ jealous," he insisted, his voice cracking from lack of use, "and you wouldn't touch any of those buffoons with a ten foot broomstick!"

"Well, it clearly had you worried," said Lily brightly. "Toast?"

James glowered at her, and she put the proffered plate down with a sigh.

"You are  _such_ a jealous idiot," she told him fondly. "Of course you're the only bloody person I'd want to spend Valentine's Day with. I mean, all those blokes just sent me cards.  _You_ -"

"Shh! Not in public!" said James hurriedly, as ears seemed to visibly prick up on all sides. "I'll never live it down."

"It'd serve you right," Lily grinned.

The bell rang, making both of them jump, and James' stomach gave a loud rumble audible even over the scraping of benches. He leapt to his feet and reached for Lily's hand. "We're skipping Charms," he informed her. "Let's go to the kitchens."

"Oh, James Potter," said Lily, fanning herself with her hand. "You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet."


	31. Juvenile Behaviour

They were not expecting wonders. When it came to the latest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher (some wondered if Dumbledore had a stash of them in a cupboard), low expectations were advised. Knowing, as all everyone did, that the job was jinxed, students never made much effort to keep a teacher around, unless they particularly liked them, which was rare. Some had been actively driven out: though nothing had been proven, and no punishment served, rumour had it that James Potter and Sirius Black had been the reason Professor Chapman had left so suddenly in their third year. All that anyone could really hope for, particularly the older years, was a professor who would get them ably through their exams.

Professor Percival Phillips, when he arrived to take up the post at the beginning of the 1977 school year, was a revelation.

James disliked him immediately, which had everything to do with his ridiculous embroidered robes and hat and nothing to do with the way the girls started fanning themselves and pretending to swoon as soon as he stood up. Phillips acknowledged the fervent applause with a nod of his dark head and sat down gracefully, a little smile playing on his lips, as if he was used to this kind of reception.

"He's very good-looking," Peter said over the applause, which showed no signs of dying down. Dumbledore looked amused: McGonagall, James was pleased to see, looked exasperated.

"I've seen better-looking Flobberworms," he said cuttingly. Remus snorted.

"You're s'posed to get on with the teachers now you've got that," Sirius warned, gesturing at the badge on James' robes. "You're on their side now."

The very suggestion was so comical that they all laughed heartily.

"I reckon everyone'll hate him," James predicted once they had pulled themselves together. "They'll see through his good looks – his alleged good looks – straight away and no one will like him or even go to his lessons."

"I can see that happening," said Peter, nodding emphatically.

* * *

They were wrong. Everyone loved Professor Phillips. James and his friends were not at all impressed by his flashy teaching style, boastful tales of past exploits and frequent habit of tousling his hair, but it seemed they were the only ones – excepting, perhaps, Professor McGonagall; James had overheard Phillips telling her one day, "call me Perry," with a lascivious wink, to which McGonagall had responded with the best singular raised eyebrow James had ever seen.

He just didn't get it. He didn't get the appeal of a man who obviously spent that much time making sure his hair looked effortlessly windswept. And he might have been able to let it go, to accept that Phillips was an idiot and move on, if he had not happened to see what had been doodled on a fellow seventh years' jotter one day several weeks into term.

Lily Evans, Head Girl to James' Head Boy and potential future partner in crime (she showed great promise) had been the object of his affections for some time now and becoming friends with her had not stopped him from remaining hopelessly smitten - or perhaps not so hopelessly these days, since he'd (admittedly) matured and made an effort to be more decent. They spent a lot of time together, whether alone or in a group, and so far he had managed to hold back declarations of his true feelings, but it wasn't easy.

Her hair looked very shiny, he thought on this particular day. He was sitting opposite her as they worked in the library, Sirius on his other side and Mary on hers. It looked like it would smell nice, too, but he was not close enough to sniff her and anyway, he thought that might be weird.

He tried to return to his work and not think about smelling her, but realised he'd left his Charms book in Gryffindor Tower.

"Can I borrow your textbook?" he whispered to Lily. She didn't look up, but nodded. He leant over to grab the book, unwittingly caught a huge whiff of her perfume, and accidentally picked up her jotter instead. Noticing, he made to put it back – and then he looked properly at the cover, which had ink all over it. Little doodles, stars and hearts, and -

_P.P._

Percival Phillips.

_Mrs. L. Phillips._

James stared.  _No_. No! She couldn't … He gaped, his mouth hanging open, unable to think coherently. What  _was_ this?

"All right?" Sirius asked, glancing at him. He followed James' stricken gaze to Lily's jotter, and gave a snort of comprehending laughter.

"Evans! You fancy  _Phillips?_ "

Lily's head shot up. Still in shock, James held up her jotter, and her face went beetroot.

"Give that back!" she hissed.

"Not until you tell me," said James quickly. "Do you  _really_ fancy Phillips?  _Phillips?_ "

"Everyone does," said Mary matter-of-factly.

"I don't!"

"That's 'cause you fancy yourself instead."

James, unwilling to linger too long on the subject of whom he fancied, persisted. "But he's such a – he's so … he's just really –"

"He's got a stupid beard," Sirius interjected helpfully.

"I like stupid beards," said Lily. "Not normal beards, they do nothing for me, but stupid beards, wow."

James found himself wondering how quickly he could grow a stupid beard. Perhaps Sirius would do it too, so he wouldn't look too much of a fool … no, probably not. Peter would, though. He'd have to ask him later.

"I don't get what people see in him," Sirius was saying. "He's not even that good-looking, right, Prongs?"

"Certainly not," said James.

Rolling her eyes, Mary said, "you  _wouldn't_ get it. He's an adult, he's mature. He has that … something, that makes him attractive. Boys just don't have it."

"We're not boys!"

"And we're not immature, either. We know how to have fun," said Sirius. "There's a difference."

"It's an important difference," Mary told them rather regretfully.

Lily was smiling now, the high colour in her cheeks fading. She reached over to take her jotter from James' unresisting hands, and asked him, "what does it really matter, whose name I write on my book? It might not even mean anything."

"Oh, it means something," said James, who had been teased mercilessly for his habit of doodling Lily's initials. "Especially if you don't realise you're doing it."

Sirius was tactful enough to keep his knowing grin brief, but Lily still looked at him funnily for the rest of the hour.

* * *

Professor Phillips was a tall, dark-haired wizard, whose slight air of cockiness and dry humour had attracted Lily at once. She knew he was a bit of an arse, and truthfully her infatuation did not run very deep. It was just that being at a boarding school in the middle of nowhere did not lend itself to meeting good-looking men, and Mary was right: he was older, mature. He was not the kind of man who would act childishly or tell terrible jokes or make a fool of himself.

James was tall, too: lanky, and all angles, he had shot up but retained his skinny frame, with the result that he rather resembled a scarecrow. His inky black hair, untidy without his assistance, did not help the illusion. He still managed to pull off looking serious somehow – not always, but when he read the paper in the mornings, frowning, tending not to notice that his glasses were slipping down his nose, and Lily would battle a sudden urge to reach over and push them back into place – or, better yet, toss them aside and snog him silly. They discussed the news most days, talked about how bad things were and what could possibly be done, and then when the mood was getting a little too macabre, he would put on a stupid voice and make some ridiculous comment and she would laugh, and it wouldn't be a bad day any more.

A last burst of autumn sunshine had pushed the seventh years out on to the grounds, bagging the best places by the lake, but most were either too exhausted or too preoccupied with work to actually talk. Lily had her homework propped up on her knee, a particularly tricky DADA essay – or at least, it would be, when she actually wrote something. Her quill was poised over the parchment, her eyes fixed a few feet away, where the boys were larking about.

James looked ridiculous as he ran, madly chasing a laughing Remus around the lawns while Sirius looked on in lazy amusement and Peter cheered James on. He was all long legs and feet, arms spirally oddly, red in the face; nothing about him suggested that he was Head Boy, that he had won multiple Transfiguration awards, that he was a boy with principles and extreme talent and strong, upstanding morals. He was a boy, really, seventeen, looking utterly carefree. And there was nothing wrong with that, Lily knew, because didn't they need to be carefree every once in a while? Didn't they need to be around people who made them laugh - people who cared, too, people who took things seriously, but people who knew how to look on the bright side when it was necessary?

And she knew that she was not thinking of people any longer, but a person, one in particular, one who was racing towards her right now with a sweaty red face and lopsided glasses to match his lopsided grin.

"Did you see me win?" he panted, bent double. "I won!"

"What did you win?" Lily asked, amused. He looked momentarily non-plussed, then shrugged it off.

"I dunno. But I definitely won." He pointed to her set-up. "Look at you, working! It's a beautiful day. Go for a swim! Have a little paddle with Nigel –"

"Nigel?"

"The giant squid!"

"What? His name's Boris," said Lily. "Everyone knows that."

James shrugged again, seemingly unconcerned. "Oh well. You would know, I suppose, since you're so fond of him. Anyway, I –" He frowned, squinting suddenly at her parchment. "Hang on …"

Her hand, it seemed, had been in sync with her wandering thoughts, and had made the markings to prove it. She had bordered her essay with dozens of  _J.P._ s, accompanied by the occasional fancy  _James_  and – the clincher – a very bold  _Mrs. James Potter_.

James seemed lost for words. His face travelled through a veritable circus of emotions, going from shock to confusion to triumph topure delight, and Lily watched him, feeling her smile grow bigger. This was fine, she knew. This was going to be more than fine.

Finally, James said, "is that Phillips' essay?"

It wasn't quite the declaration of love Lily had been hoping for. She nodded.

"Good," he said. "Leave it there. Let him know that I'm better than him. Not  _all_ the girls fancy him. Ha!"

"It's not a competition," Lily reminded him.

"Isn't it?"

"Well, certainly not a close one." He grinned at her. "Anyway, what makes you think this even means anything? It's just doodling."

"Call it what you want," he said happily, dropping onto the grass next to her, and she shuffled closer and thought delightedly of what was surely to come. "I'm going to get it tattooed on my face whatever you say."

 


	32. Misconceptions

"This is terrible," said James mournfully. "What's happened to the world?"

"I think you're overreacting a bit," Lily giggled.

James ignored her. "It can only go downhill from here," he continued in the same troubled voice. "Next thing you know, there won't even  _be_ any such thing as detention –"

"Only one thing for it, really," Lily interrupted, and James turned to look at her with an expression that was half-outrage, half-intrigue. She grinned. " _You_ need to cause trouble."

James' anguish came as a result of the Wednesday evening castle patrol: in drawing lots, the Head Boy and Girl had found themselves on the same shift. Since their first one last week, they had found something else – that  _nothing_ happened on Wednesday nights.  
The prefects on the other patrols had, between them, reported a substantial rate of misdeeds, ranging from snogging in empty classrooms to graffiti-ing the corridor rumoured to hold the Slytherin common room ("it is," James had said absently, filing the report); but by this point, as the second Wednesday patrol drew to a close, Lily and James had come across absolutely nothing amiss, no troublemakers out of bed, nothing at all.

"Evans!" James gasped shrilly. "What kind of a Head Girl are you? Encouraging misbehaviour!" He paused, then said, "do you really think I haven't thought of that?"

"Well, you don't seem to be doing much about it," Lily remarked.

"That's not my fault," he said, sounding pained. "I'm too effing busy to  _think_ of anything. It's not as easy as you might think."

"I bet  _I_ can come up with something."

James' eyebrows shot up; the corner of his mouth twitched. "Do you really?" he asked, his tone suggesting that he didn't think so. "I don't know, Evans. We're talking ingenious stuff here, not just … I don't know … turning your sister's teacup into a rat."

They had reached the door of the small Head students' study, but Lily froze. "How do you know about that?" she demanded, as a triumphant grin spread over James' face. It sent tiny jolts of pleasure tingling in her chest, and she tried to fight a sudden urge to smile.

"Student records are public property," said James, as if it were obvious – and factual.

"No they aren't!"

He looked mildly disconcerted; Lily thought it was faked, but it was almost convincing; he was a very good actor. "Are they not? Goodness me. Does this mean they're not open to alterations, either?"

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to hide the grin that was struggling to break out. "It does mean that, yeah." She reached for the door handle and then stopped as a worrying thought occurred to her. "Did you alter  _my_ record?"

"Oh, I don't know," said James, suddenly vague. "I don't think so." He scratched his nose, looking thoughtful. "You've always suffered from noxious halitosis, right? We didn't add that …"

As Lily gaped at him, completely unsure as to whether or not he was joking, he grinned and then – to her utter disbelief – leaned in and sniffed.

"If you have a comment that's anything other than  _deliciously minty_  I'm going to hex your private parts til they fall off," she hissed before he could speak.

"In that case," said James, "I shall remain silent."

One thing was certain, Lily thought, nobody could ever be  _bored_ around James Potter. She turned her back on him and opened the door of the study.

"Evening," said Sirius from the floor, not looking up from the chessboard that lay between him and Peter.

Lily stared at them. Then she turned back to James, and stared at him, too. Looking completely unperturbed by finding two of his best friends playing chess on the floor of his office, he simply stepped past Lily and moved into the small room, peering at the board with interest.

"Who's winning?"

Sirius' response was to yawn 'checkmate', pointing his queen into position. He held out his hand; without a word, Peter reached into his pocket and handed over a Honeydukes bag.

"Bad luck, Wormtail," said James sympathetically.

"He can play you now," Sirius said absently as he inspected the contents of the bag. "Moony's lying down, he wasn't feeling too good –"

"Has he eaten?" asked James at once.

Peter nodded. "We took him some soup."

Lily sat down heavily on her chair.

"Is this going to be a regular occurrence?" she enquired weakly. She received three distracted nods in response, and exhaled.

"What're you sighing for?" Sirius demanded. "Get down here and play me. Prongs, where's your board?"

"Why do I have to play you?" Lily asked warily. She didn't like the glint in Sirius' eye; just the other day, they had been partnered for duelling practice in DADA, and she had – narrowly – beaten him. She had thought, then, that Sirius' scowl wouldn't be the last she heard of it.

It was Peter who explained: "James and Sirius can't play each other, it could take days before one of them wins."

"It  _has_ ," James chipped in reminiscently. "Last summer, d'you remember? We were up for almost three days … could barely speak English by the end."

"Healthy," Lily commented. "What makes you think this game won't take days? I could be a match for Sirius."

The trio blinked at her.

"Cocky tonight, aren't you?" James observed. "Evans here reckons she can come up with some ingenious trick to play," he added to the others, "since we're out of ideas."

"Impossible," said Peter at once. He shook his head pityingly at Lily. "It's not as easy as you might think."

"There's a certain level of genius required," Sirius agreed.

"I've already thought of something," said Lily.

They exchanged glances and then, as one, turned back to look at her expectantly.

She briefly debated the merits of keeping them in suspense, but decided it was easier to just say it – and see the looks on their faces. "Chalk," she explained simply. "It'd be really easy to enchant all the pieces of chalk in the classrooms, and there are loads of charms you can use – taking out all vowels, changing the language, turning every other word into a swearword …"

She wished they would stop staring at her, but the range of expressions spreading over their faces was extremely amusing: Sirius looked impressed, but reluctantly so; Peter looked astonished; and James was grinning from ear to ear.

"Brilliant," he declared, and Lily's stomach squirmed delightedly. "Fair play, Evans. How come you've never done anything like that?"

"The records only show what you were caught doing," Lily reminded him slyly.

All three were now looking at her as if seeing her in a whole new light. Forcing a tone of supreme indifference, she continued, "so when are we doing this? I mean, I presume you'll need my help."

James waggled his finger at her as if to say 'watch it' as he spoke. "Next Wednesday, obviously. We can't catch ourselves out, can we?"

Sirius was still watching her, Lily noticed suddenly. Just as she realised this, he looked back at James and said, "think I might sit this one out, mate. Lot of work to do, you know."

Was it Lily's imagination, or did his foot twitch in Peter's direction? And since when had Sirius cared about schoolwork?

"Big test next Thursday," Peter chipped in readily.

Lily frowned. "What test?"

"History of Magic," he replied without missing a beat, and Lily felt both frustration – why were all of them such good liars? – and a slight thrill. She thought she could guess the reason behind this sudden, uncharacteristic decision to duck out of mischief. She glanced at James, and saw that he seemed to be suppressing a smile.

"Looks like it's just you and me, then," he said.

 


	33. Indecent

_For this prompt: 'Person A is thinking sexually graphic or generally odd thoughts and suddenly panics and thinks "If you're a mind reader, cough right now." Person B coughs.'_

* * *

 

They were alone, quite alone, and the room seemed much smaller than it had been, barely inches between them, but still, he was too far away … she was breathing heavily, fingers itching to touch him –

As if on cue, though no words passed between them, he moved forwards and closed the gap. They kissed like they had been waiting to do so their entire lives, and now it was her hands that ran through his hair, clawing, grabbing, pulling him closer, pressing his body up against hers, paying no heed to the glasses that dug into her cheek. Too soon, he pulled away, his lips moving to her ear, whispering -

"Could I have your homework please, Miss Evans?"

Lily blinked. Professor Flitwick held out his hand, level with the desk, impatience creeping into his voice. Behind him, the rest of the classroom came back into focus, the gentle murmur of chatter replacing deep-voiced groans and snatched breaths, and she realised that her hand clutched at a scroll of parchment, rather than jet black tufts of hair.

Flustered, she handed it over and gave herself a little shake. Those scenes that played on beyond closed eyelids within the privacy of her four-poster's hangings were one thing; to lose herself in the middle of Charms was another. What if someone had noticed? What if – God forbid – she'd said something aloud?  _Moaned?_

She turned her attention to the blackboard, attempting to start on the theoretical exercises Flitwick had set them, but her mind was resisting: the chalked letters shifted, and instead she saw hazel eyes boring into her as hands – calloused hands, a Chaser's hands – explored her body, brushing her waist, moving to settle between her -

No,  _shit_ , she was in  _class_ , she couldn't possibly think about that –  _God._ Someone should be pouring ice cold water on blinked again, several times for good measure, and looked around for something to distract her.

It was not until her gaze fell on James Potter, twisted in his seat a row in front, that she realised he had beaten her to it. He was staring right at her.  
His expression seemed to her partly curious and partly – what?  _Amused,_ she thought. How long had he been watching her?

More importantly; had he noticed her loss of concentration?Could he  _tell?_ Had he any idea what he had just been doing in her head?

No; of course not. Lily dismissed the thought, but another slithered forwards to take its place, reminding her that there were many things she had not thought possible until joining the wizarding world, and hadn't Professor Savage said something about mind reading not so long ago?

James had turned the right way around, but she had a feeling he was not entirely concentrating on his work, either. A smile – no, a  _smirk_  – was visible, curving his profile.

_Could he read minds?_

It was ridiculous, fanciful; and yet she could not help worrying. Oughtn't she check? After the images that had passed through her mind, surely – surely she should make sure, to put herself at ease …

 _If you are a mind reader_ , she thought carefully,  _cough. Right now._

A second – she strained her ears –

Still facing away from her, James coughed, and Lily nearly jumped out of her chair.

Her pulse raced: beads of sweat prickled at her back.  _A coincidence,_ she told herself firmly. She couldn't assume – not just from one try – one  _fluke._ Once more. Once more, and she could rest easy.

She focused, watching James intently, and thought again,  _if you are a mind reader, cough – now._

He coughed.

Lily's chest was tightening; her breath seemed to catch as she swallowed, struggling to stay calm. The timing – it could still be a coincidence -

A third time would prove it. A third time could not be coincidental, she would know for sure – she collected herself and tried again.

James coughed.

He had not turned round again. She watched him for a further few minutes, but no other cough came. He had shown no signs of having a cold. She had to face it, face the horrific truth: James Potter was a mind-reader, and she was humiliated.

He would tell his friends. Word would spread. Soon the whole school would know that she had lewd fantasies about him. Everyone would watch her in class, trying to tell if she was having one.

And James would never see her in the same way again.

She put her head in her hands, sweaty palms against burning skin. It was such a shame, because they'd been – they were close to being good friends. They might have been. They might have been  _more_ (she was certainly hoping they would be, some day) and she'd cocked it up royally.

What if he was reading  _these_ thoughts? Her head shot up. What if he was reading  _all her thoughts?_

 _Get out_ , she thought fiercely.  _Leave my mind alone!_

James showed no sign of reacting. He was a good actor, though. It wasn't at all unlikely that he would have mastered this obscure skill in order to further his mischief-making. What if Sirius knew how to do it, too? He would happen upon all sorts of inappropriate images in which he starred …

The bell rang, saving Lily from having to continue her breakdown in front of the class. It was incredibly tempting to skip the next few hours, or perhaps the rest of her education, entirely: hide under her duvet until everyone forgot she'd ever been there …

"Lily? Are you coming?"

"You go," she said to Mary, struck with a sudden idea as she watched Flitwick wiping the blackboard clear. "I've got to ask Flitwick something."

She made sure James had left before hurrying up to the front and tapping Flitwick on the shoulder.

"Can I help you with something, Miss Evans?"

She tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't sound utterly idiotic. "I was wondering, sir … is there any such thing as mind-reading?"

(She had to make sure. She had to be absolutely certain before she went ahead and died of shame.)

"Mind-reading?" Flitwick squeaked. "Well, not in that sense –"

Lily's shoulders sank with relief.

"- but there are forms of magic which would be considered very similar – the penetration of the mind, the ability to pull images from another's brain, so on and so forth."

_Fuck._

"And – and anyone can learn it?"

"Oh, no," said Flitwick comfortably.  _Relax._ "Very tricky, anything pertaining to the mind. No, only witches and wizards of considerable talent and ability would be able to master such a skill."

_Double fuck._

"Right," Lily said, trying to inject gratitude into her voice. "OK, well, thanks, sir, that's all I needed to know …"

She shouldered her bag, barely feeling the weight with the shame pressing down on her, left the classroom, and walked straight into James Potter.

"Ow," she said, rubbing her forehead, which had collided with his chest, and then she realised the gravity of the situation. " _Oh._ Oh!"

"All right?" he greeted, looking utterly unperturbed. Had he been waiting for her? "Flitwick solve your problem?"

Lily folded her arms across her chest. "No. How did you know I had a problem?"

"Just a guess," he shrugged. "I thought it might have something to do with not having done your work, being distracted by dirty thoughts and all that."

His tone was so casual, so  _normal_ , that its meaning did not hit her until several seconds later, and then her face flamed. She stared at him, open-mouthed, appalled, and he grinned back at her.

"You – you –"

"Yeah?" He pretended to examine a fingernail. "It's all right, Evans, you've got nothing to be embarrassed about. Perfectly natural."

" _Don't –_ " Lily took a step towards him, then back again; her brain seemed to have disconnected from her body. She'd never felt so disjointed. "Look," she tried again, feeling some explanation was necessary, "I didn't – it's not like I want to – don't think that because I was thinking about you like –  _that_ – that I expect –"

"Oh, obviously," James said, waggling his eyebrows, and then he froze. His expression shifted: the grin faded, replaced with pure shock. His bag slipped from his shoulder and fell to the floor with a  _thud_ , which seemed to stir him. "Sorry - did you say you were thinking about  _me?"_

"You - you didn't know that?" Lily said without thinking. "But you were  _reading my mind_ –"

As quickly as it had vanished, the grin returned, accompanied by a great shout of laughter.

"Oh, Evans," James gasped, wiping non-existent tears from his eyes. "You really thought I was reading your mind?"

Something was starting to click, but Lily felt no less of an idiot. More so, in fact. "No!" she cried. "No – I – I mean – you said you knew I'd been having dirty thoughts!" She blushed further, and her accusatory finger wobbled. James looked delighted.

"I suppose I should explain …"

"That would be nice," said Lily weakly. Still chuckling to himself, James leant back against the wall, an air of extreme contentment oozing from his every pore as he cleared his throat to disclose what Lily hoped, for his sake, was a really fucking great explanation.

"Picture the scene," he began theatrically. "A young man in Charms. Bored. Incredibly bored. So bored that one might even say he –"

"Oh, just  _tell_ me, you pig!"

"Fine! Fine. So I was bored, and I was looking around and I noticed that you seemed … distracted. Flushed. Very disoriented when Flitwick talked to you, and embarrassed, too. All the signs were there: I guessed that you'd been thinking, er, inappropriately -"

"Hang on, though," Lily interrupted, trying not to squirm at the reminder, "you coughed! That's why I – I thought,  _if you're reading my mind, cough now_ , and you did! Three times!"

"Yeah, I'm getting to that," said James, looking marginally uneasy. "I knew you noticed I'd been watching you. You seemed upset by that. Worried. You kept watching me, so … well. Like I said, I was bored." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rectangular mirror. "I propped this up on my desk so I could still see you. Staring at me. Then I had an itchy throat, so I coughed, and you looked like the world had ended … then you went back to staring, and you seemed to be concentrating really hard and then expecting something to happen. So I coughed again, and your reaction confirmed that you really  _didn't_ want me to do that. I eavesdropped on you and Flitwick, put two and two together and – well. Yeah."

He shrugged again, a faint pink tinge to his cheeks. Lily gaped at him.

"So this was just a trick?"

A nod, slightly shame-faced.

"Oh, thank God," said Lily. Dimly, she wondered if she ought to be angry, but she couldn't muster the effort. It  _was_ funny. And she knew that, had she been in the same situation, she would have done something similar.

"You're not pissed off?" James asked, looking baffled.

"Still embarrassed, more than anything," she admitted. "I mean, you might not have  _seen –_ but you still  _know_ –"

"Ah, don't worry about it." He waved an airy hand. "I'm flattered, obviously …"

"Obviously."

"But everyone's been there," he went on, picking up his bag again. Lily wished, momentarily, that he would stay longer … "I reckon most people have panicked that someone there is a mind-reader. Heck, the first time it happened to me, in lesson, I did the exact same thing, but then I knew I had nothing to worry about."

"Why?"

He leaned in, lips lingering millimetres from her ear before he straightened up again.

"You never coughed."


	34. Healthy Competition

"Quills at the ready," said James, in what he liked to think was a very good compere voice. "Eyes on your own paper.  _Abso_ -lutely  _no_ cheating –"

"Did you choose today's, or last week's?" Peter interrupted. "Because today's is really hard –"

"You're not allowed to look, Wormtail," said Sirius, frowning.

Peter flushed, shifting in his seat. "I just glanced at it. I didn't try and  _do_ it." He looked down at the sheet in his lap, torn from the newspaper and duplicated, and hurried on, "it seemed difficult though, more than last week. Shouldn't we go with the one that's more suitable to everyone?"

"I don't think it would make much difference," Remus muttered.

James slammed his hand down on the table, making everybody jump.

"We are gathered here for a very important reason," he told them in his most dignified tone. "Let's all take this seriously, shall we?"

He glanced at the tall, rain-spattered windows.

"Besides, it's pissing it down. We've nothing better to do, have we?"

When James Potter was fourteen years old, he had fallen under the misapprehension that all it would take for girls to like him was winning lots of things, very loudly and very publicly.

Unsatisfied with merely winning Quidditch matches, he did what any teenage wizard would do. He instigated a fortnightly crossword contest.

It took place - as the name suggested - every two weeks, on Sundays (when everyone was doing their homework in the common room), and comprised him competing against his friends for the revered (by him) title of crossword champion. It was, he was certain, a flawless plan to attract witches from all over the school, once news of his prowess spread.

Three years and only one sort-of girlfriend later, he was less certain.

But the contest was fun – or at least more fun than homework – and it gave him and his friends something to do. Sirius, who was very good at crosswords and (despite pretending otherwise) enjoyed doing them, never complained, mostly because he won half the time. The rest of the time, James won. Peter and Remus, who didn't complain because they were too happy to be included, had won only once and thrice respectively. Sometimes they put rude words in the columns instead, which speeded up the process considerably, and gave them something to laugh at while James or Sirius loudly celebrated their victory.

(There was still a part of James, after all, that believed public triumph would draw girls to him. He was a hopeful sort of bloke.)

Happy that everyone was taking it seriously, James lifted his wand and gave the signal.

"On your marks …  _GO!_ "

The blast from his wand was greeted, as usual, by shouts of complaint from the other occupants of the common room, who didn't seem to feel it was necessary, but James wasn't listening; he was already deeply immersed in his crossword. Ink splattered his glasses from the speed with which he was writing; to his right, Sirius was scribbling madly, as ruffled as most ever saw him. Remus and Peter were slower, counting on their fingers as they worked out the clues. Creases appeared between Remus' eyebrows.

Looking up momentarily and seeing Peter's eyes darting around the room, James said, "no cheating, Wormtail."

"I wasn't!" Peter protested, but James had already returned to his crossword. He filled in another word and took a moment to push his glasses back up his nose before he moved on to the next clue.

"- think I'm in love with Lily Evans!"

_What?_

Startled, James swivelled wildly about, the crossword at once forgotten. Had he misheard?  _Who_ thought they were in love with Lily Evans?

His eyes lit upon a group of younger boys, third- or fourth-years, clustered less than a foot from where James sat.

"You're in  _love_ with her?" he heard one say disbelievingly.

"James?"

He turned. Sirius was watching him curiously. "Aren't you playing?"

"In a minute," he said vaguely, and got to his feet before any further questions could be asked. He had always been taught not to eavesdrop on private conversations, a lesson he followed at his convenience. In this situation, he decided, the best way to get answers was to ask for them.

Fully aware that his friends had stopped filling in their crosswords to see what he was doing, he approached the boys, who stopped talking immediately when he loomed over them. Intimidated, James thought. As they should be.

"'Scuse," he said, "but I couldn't help overhearing what you –" he nodded at the culprit – "just said."

The boy's eyes went very round.

"I – I don't –"

"About being in love with Lily Evans." James took a seat, even though he hadn't been invited to do so. "You think you're in love with her?"

"Well –" The boy stared at his knees, until his friend elbowed him, and he met James' gaze reluctantly. "I … yes. I think so."

"Why?" James demanded. "And – what's your name, anyway?"

"Bertie. Taylor."

"So what makes you think you're in love with Lily Evans, Bertie?"

A strange, faraway look passed over Bertie's face, his dreamy gaze fixed on a point behind James' head. "I don't know really," he said, sounding dazed. "It's just … she just makes me feel … things."

"Oh, that's normal," James cut in, "I know when I was your age I –"

"No – in my  _heart_ ," said Bertie. He gestured at his chest, as if James might be unsure as to where the heart was. "And my head. I can't think straight when I'm around her, and I get this sort of  _ache_ when I think about her …"

"When are you around her?"

"She helps me with Charms every Tuesday. And sometimes when she sees me around school she comes and asks me how things are going. And she passed me the other day and said she liked my badge –" He pointed to the one on his chest, which proclaimed him a fan of popular band The Potioneers. James knew Lily liked them: she'd insisted on putting their latest record on during one rainy break time the sixth years had spent in a classroom. Personally, he didn't get the appeal: the sight of her dancing around the room, hair swinging, laughing at herself, had been far more entrancing.

"Sounds like you're well in," he said. It didn't come out as sarcastic as he'd intended it.

"I'm not, though." Bertie sighed dejectedly. "She doesn't see me like that. I'm too young for her, and there are other people who have a much better chance, like the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, Marvin someone –"

"Marvin  _Murphy?_ " James cried, shooting forwards in his seat. " _He's_ asked her out?"

"He's always making excuses to come up to her in the library," Bertie shrugged. "I don't think he's asked her out yet but he probably will, and she'll say yes and I'll never, ever have a chance with her," he finished morosely. One of his friends patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

James was in shock.

"I can't believe this," he muttered, mostly to himself. He had had no idea there were quite so many people interested in Lily Evans – and so forward about it, too! He'd thought it best to keep a low profile after the debacle by the lake; they were now on good terms, but he didn't want to push his luck. When she was talking to him, he got to hear her laugh: he was noting things about her he hadn't before, like the precise shade of pink that coloured the apples of her cheeks when she smiled, and how she favoured a different perfume for the holiday season, and that she usually had porridge for breakfast, but on Fridays she had toast with extra jam.

"Your face has gone all funny," another of Bertie's friends observed, which James found incredibly impertinent. "Why are  _you_ bothered, anyway?"

"He likes her," said a third friend.

"Who?"

"Lily Evans. I bet he fancies her too."

Slightly stunned – since when had kids started being so disrespectful? – James spluttered, "no I don't!"

The boys regarded him with sympathetic and entirely disbelieving expressions. One even had the nerve to reach out and pat his hand.

"It's all right," Bertie said magnanimously. "I don't blame you. I suppose people like us just aren't what she's looking for."

 _"What?"_ James clawed his hands through his hair, absolutely lost as to how the conversation had got so out of hand, and just when he'd become the object of sympathy of boys who were just hitting puberty. "What – I mean - why – what makes you think I'm not what she's looking for?"

"Well, she said no to you –"

"She didn't say no to me!"  _Recently,_ he added silently. He didn't feel it was a detail worth mentioning: besides, after a lot of consideration and thought, he felt he understood why she'd said no at that moment, and found he didn't begrudge her for it. Much.

Bertie and his friends appeared to let this sink in. "Wait," said one after a lengthy pause, "so – you haven't asked her out?"

"No."

" _What?_ " Bertie exploded, making James jump. "You – you're her  _age!_ And you're the best Quidditch player in the school! Why haven't you asked her out?"

"Because I like being friends with her!" It sounded pathetic to James' own ears, and from the expressions of the boys, they felt the same way.

"Mate," said one, shaking his head, "you've got to grow a pair and just do it."

James very much wanted to shout and throw something, but he managed to control himself. "Look," he said in a low, fierce voice, "I will do it on my own time, all right?"

He got to his feet.

"This is between us. No one else will hear of it. Got that?"

The boys nodded quickly.

"Good," James growled, and he stalked away, back to where he had been sitting. He sank into his armchair feeling as if he'd just woken up from a very bizarre dream.

"Who won?" he asked.

"Dunno, we stopped playing when you did," said Sirius. He jerked his head at the younger boys, who had their heads together and were whispering conspiratorially. "What was that about?"

Sorely wishing this day would hurry up and be over already, James explained. "… and they told me to just go and ask her out!" he finished, flinging his arms wide to express his exasperation. "Told me to  _grow a pair and just do it!_ "

"Are you taking advice from a bunch of thirteen year olds?" asked Remus. He sounded very amused.

"They're  _giving_ me advice," James corrected, annoyed. "I didn't say I was going to take it."

"I think you should," said Peter unexpectedly.

The others' heads swivelled to look at him. "Well, if there are other people wanting to ask her out – and what have you got to lose?" he said, flushing.

"My dignity," James started, counting off on his fingers, "my pride, my reputation –"

"Not much, then," said Sirius. James grinned, but still felt unsettled.

"I just don't know if – I mean, if she says no it could make things really awkward."

"You won't know until you try," Peter told him wisely.

James couldn't disagree with that. It was odd: he was usually so impulsive. He rarely deliberated or hesitated.

"After all, you have got competition, mate," Sirius said, nodding again at Bertie and his friends with a smirk. "I say go for it."

"Maybe a bit of competition's what you need," Remus chipped in. "You're competitive, you like winning –"

At that moment, the portrait hole opened and Lily Evans came in, deep in conversation with Head Boy Oscar Knight.

"Oh," said Peter a beat later, "Oscar Knight fancies her, too."

Sirius sucked in a breath.

"Right," said James, deeply annoyed now and feeling like he was living an alternate universe all of a sudden. "Right. Enough. I can't take any more of this." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"I'm going to ask her out."


	35. Firewhiskey Tails

Whether or not James Potter's seventeenth birthday landing on a Hogsmeade date was a coincidence was a question that was never answered; some said that Professor McGonagall had orchestrated it, out of secret fondness for the best Transfiguration student in the school. Others insisted that it must have been the work of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. The more rational students, who didn't particularly care for mindless gossip about James Potter anyway, said that it was just a coincidence, and who really  _wanted_ to see those idiots get roaring drunk in the middle of the day?

James woke up sober. He fought his way through the enormous pile of presents that sat at the foot of his bed, stared lovingly at his new racing broom for at least ten minutes, tried to fly it around the dormitory (he would later try this again in a more inebriated state, with horrible results) and shared a quarter of a bottle of Firewhiskey – Peter's gift – with his best friends. He was in a very good mood indeed by the time the four of them descended to the Great Hall for breakfast, a mood only bettered by the sight of a bright blue, cloudless ceiling.

Lily Evans was not having a particularly good day, and she had only been awake for a few hours. Last week Gilbert Chambers had asked her if she'd like to go with him to Hogsmeade, and despite feeling that she would rather not, Lily hadn't been able to help herself from saying 'yes, all right' at the sight of his hopeful expression; after all, he was rather sweet, and he'd been very grateful for her help with Potions last year …  
But now, as she toyed listlessly with her porridge, she was regretting her decision. After all, what did they really have in common? He was a Hufflepuff, and wasn't in any of her classes now except Charms, and he didn't like Quidditch … but perhaps,  _perhaps_ that was a good reason to go out with him – to get to know what he did like! Oh, but what if he tried to  _kiss_ her?

"Good morning!" said a voice loudly in her ear, causing her to drop her spoon on Mary Macdonald's newspaper.

"What – sorry, Mary! Oh – good morning, James …"

"Good morning," James repeated, swinging his long legs over the bench beside her; around him, Sirius, Peter and Remus sat down too, looking far too cheerful even for a Saturday.

"Have you been drinking?" Lily asked suspiciously, as James leant across her for the milk jug and she caught a definite whiff of Firewhiskey.

"No," said James. "Or perhaps yes. How would you know?"

"Your breath stinks," Lily told him bluntly, and not entirely truthfully – though James didn't appear offended at all. On the contrary, he looked rather amused.

"And how would you know what this alcohol – what my breath – what alcohol breath – what it smells like?"

"Eloquent," said Lily. "I turned seventeen in January, remember? I know what Firewhiskey smells like."

Across the table, Sirius swallowed a huge mouthful of bacon butty and said, "oh yeah, that was a great party, Evans. I'm still recovering."

Lily laughed, then saw Gilbert Chambers sitting down at the Hufflepuff table and stopped at once, feeling extremely guilty about the part of her that had been hoping he'd overslept, or been feeling too ill …

"… Three Broomsticks?"

It took Lily a second to register that James was speaking to her again; she hastily removed her gaze from the Hufflepuff table before Gilbert could look up and turned back to James.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Want to come with us to the Three Broomsticks?" James asked cheerfully. "We're going to drink lots."

"We're going to the Hog's Head after, too," added Remus, who looked as if he was extremely aware of the potential problems this plan could cause, but choosing to ignore them.

"Don't tell Rosmerta that, it'd break her poor heart," said Sirius.

All four boys looked at Lily expectantly.

"Oh," she said, trying to unscramble her brain. If she was being quite honest with herself, which she tried to be, she would much rather spend the day with this group, who  _were_ a great laugh now they'd stopped with the random corridor hexes – but she had promised Gilbert …

"We realise this is a very exclusive invitation, Evans," said Sirius, "but it would be nice if you could give us a response other than 'oh'. Perhaps 'oh  _goodness I'd love to, I've never wanted to do anything more in my life_ ', or else 'oh  _I can't because I'm meeting the bassist from Alchemy for a romantic rendezvous behind the Hog's Head_ –"

"The bassist from Alchemy is married," said Peter.

"Maybe that sort of thing doesn't bother Evans," Sirius drawled.

Lily, trying desperately to get a word in edgeways, sent Sirius her most disparaging look and finally managed, "it  _does_ , you swine, and I can't go because I already said I'd go with someone."

"The bassist from Alchemy?" Remus asked innocently.

"No! It's – oh, don't make fun – it's Gilbert Chambers."

As she predicted, Sirius, Remus and Peter all snorted with laughter, as did many of the eavesdropping people seated around them. James didn't laugh, though; he looked rather put out.

"You'd rather go with Gilbert Chambers than – than with us?" he demanded. "I thought you had a sense of humour … Chambers wouldn't know a joke if it bit him on the arse."

"There's an image," Remus commented.

Feeling quite sorry for poor Gilbert, who was a sweetheart, Lily said crossly, "I said I'd go with him and that's that in my book. It's not a matter of what I'd rather do or not do."

"Suit yourself," said James petulantly, and he swung himself off his bench, stumbling slightly. "Come on, fellas … if we don't go now we'll miss all the alhocol. Alcohol."

Lily watched him saunter out of the hall with the others; as he passed the Ravenclaw table, a few people hailed him, saying things Lily couldn't hear, until one girl said loudly, "happy birthday!"  
 _  
Oh._

* * *

Gilbert Chambers  _was_ very sweet. Unfortunately for Lily, he was also deadly dull, wanting to talk about nothing but his schoolwork and peppering her with questions about all his subjects, particularly Muggle Studies; he seemed to find Lily, as a Muggle-born, quite fascinating, which started off as endearing and ended up as plain offensive.

By the time they finally headed back to the castle, Lily was drained. She bid Gilbert a hasty and deliberately unromantic goodbye in the Entrance Hall and hurried up the marble staircase without a look back, feeling thoroughly guilty and as if she'd like nothing more than a large bottle of Firewhiskey all to herself.

She was in luck; when she stepped into the Gryffindor common room, she found a party in full swing. Another stab of guilt went through her as she saw the enormous banners hung across the room, reading  _HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES;_ quite why she was feeling guilty now, she wasn't sure, but she thought it might have something to do with the look on James' face when she had said she was going to Hogsmeade with Gilbert … and perhaps more to do with the odd sensation she felt somewhere in her stomach whenever James entered a room.

"Evans! How was your date?" Sirius hollered as soon as he spotted her. "Did you get a snog? Or –"

"Have a drink, Lily," said Mary loudly, cutting off Sirius' undoubtedly lewd remark and pressing a bottle of Firewhiskey into Lily's hands.

Lily thanked her and took a swig; the drink burned the back of her throat and she coughed, but took another swig anyway, stepping away from the portrait hole and into the crowd, passing embracing couples and dodging a seventh year who'd clearly had more than his fair share of Firewhiskey. Her own drink was having an effect already; she felt far more at ease than she had done all day, the alcohol numbing the sharp edges of her awful day and making the guilt and disappointment ebb away. She felt positively cheerful by the time she reached the other side of the room and found Peter sitting in the corner alone, hiccupping in a vague sort of manner.

"Hello, Peter," Lily said, taking the armchair next to him. "Why are you sitting here?"

"Can't dance," Peter informed her, "got vase ... it broke, you know. Oh  _hello_ Proooongs!"

"Wooooormtail," James replied hazily, dropping into the chair beside Lily. "And Lily!"

Lily giggled; James was clearly very, very drunk.

"Have you been dancing?" she asked him, as his face was bright red and his glasses lopsided.

"What? No I don't think so!"

"Y'have," Peter corrected. "Saw you. Youwerevellygood."

" _Thanks_ , Wormtail!" James gasped. "Go and dance yourself! I think … I think Moony wants to dance. Not moon. Not tonight."

He snorted, looking very pleased with himself; then, as Peter ambled off, his expression suddenly became very serious.

"Gottoaskyousomething," he mumbled, leaning heavily on the arm of Lily's chair.

"Go on, then," said Lily, wishing she didn't feel quite so hopeful.

James looked up at her, his hazel eyes grave.

"Have you ever seen a mermaid?"

_Damn._

"No," Lily told him gently. "I haven't. Have you?"

"Gilbert Chambers is a  _knob_ ," James said, as if she had not spoken. "Why – why – it's my birthday, did you know that?"

"Yeah, I did …"

Struck with a sudden thought, Lily pulled her wand from her pocket and twiddled it in mid-air, concentrating as hard as she could given the alcohol clouding her brain. James regarded her with a mild expression as she conjured a block of wood and set to work on it, tapping and carving and charming; eventually, she was satisfied, and she passed the finished product to James.

He looked at it bemusedly, taking in the small wood figure's untidy black hair, glasses, and red merperson's tail.

"'S'me," he said eventually, comprehension dawning on his face. "Me, Lily! As a mermaid!"

"Happy birthday," Lily told him. "Because, you know … you gave me the cat, remember?"

"Oh,  _I_ did that," James said knowledgeably. "Mmm. Look, Lily, it's me as a mermaid!"

* * *

The next morning, nursing a very sore head, James barely remembered anything of the night before. He did, however, remember a giggle and a  _happy birthday_ and a special gift, and the little wooden merman remained on his bedside table for the rest of his time at Hogwarts – and for three years after that.


End file.
